


Uneasy Alliance

by Raine_Wynd



Series: Battle Cries [4]
Category: Highlander: The Raven, Highlander: The Series, Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Family, Gen, Hansen Family Feels, Immortals, Jaeger Pilots, Kaiju War, Loyalty, Secrets, Swearing, Trust, Watchers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-11 23:54:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 23,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2087772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raine_Wynd/pseuds/Raine_Wynd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chuck finds out the secrets Herc's been keeping - and it changes everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This probably won't make a lot of sense unless you've read the others in the series first.
> 
> Thanks to N. for wandering through and helping fix what needed fixing.

Herc hadn’t cared much for New York City, but he had enjoyed getting to know one of the Game’s deadliest immortals: Connor MacLeod, who turned out to have a wicked sense of humor and a unique idea of what constituted training. Between Connor and Richie, Herc had a whirlwind, weeklong tour of the city, including some of the best food and wine he’d ever had. 

At Connor’s insistence, Herc and Richie were staying in Connor’s home – a multistory brick building on Hudson Street that held an antique store on the ground floor and a four-bedroom home on the other three floors. The top floor had been a ballroom at one point in its life; it had been converted to a martial arts studio. 

Toward the end of the week, Richie woke him early. “Connor and I have a treat for you, now that you’re one of us. Get dressed and come upstairs.”

Curious, Herc dressed quickly and headed up to the studio. He found Richie and Connor already fighting each other. Dressed in street clothes, both men were faster and more ruthless than they’d been the first time Herc had seen them fight. Then again, they weren’t putting on a demonstration for an audience of jaeger pilot cadets who knew nothing about immortality.

Both men were the same height, the same wiry mass of explosive energy, but Connor was somehow just that much faster, that much better. Watching him, Herc was convinced he was watching the ultimate winner of the Game. Silently, Herc hoped he never saw the Gathering - the final battle between all immortals - come; he was starting to see what he could look forward to, if he and his fellow jaeger pilots won over the kaiju. 

Richie finally called a halt to the fight. “All right, all right, so I left my left side open, you got me,” he griped.

Connor laughed, stepping back as he did so, and sketched a bow, his arm fluttering in a flourish that made Herc wonder if Connor meant it as an insult.

Richie’s words confirmed it. “Oh no, I know what that means, you old Scot. I've been practicing, but making sure a 250 ft. jaeger was operational took priority.”

“Yours?” Connor asked, glancing at Herc.

“Yes.”

“In that case, Richie, take that as a warning, not an insult.”

Richie inclined his head. “Thank you.” He still sounded a little irritated.

“So what did you want me here for?” Herc asked, thinking it might be good to distract them.

Richie glanced at Connor. “You’re not asking because you think I suck at teaching, are you?”

“Told you before,” Connor said, waving Herc to stand where Richie was. “You can always be better.”

Interpreting he was being asked to fight, Herc pulled out his sword and stood ready. “I hope you’re not implying he didn’t teach me well, mate.”

Connor grinned widely as Richie stepped out of the field of play. Herc didn’t think he stood a chance against someone centuries older, but he shut his mind to such thoughts and focused on what he could do. It took Connor all of ten minutes to bring Herc to his knees.

Stepping back, Connor released Herc from the trap he’d set. “Where’s your mind, Herc?” he asked. “You’re not in a jaeger, but you need to fight like one. Again.”

Herc took a deep breath, reset himself, and attacked. He lasted longer a second time, but it was enough to suit Connor. 

“So what’s your verdict?” Herc asked as he wiped off the sweat on his brow.

Connor smiled. “Richie has taught you well. Ready for breakfast?”

“I am not cooking; you are paying for breakfast after that commentary,” Richie shot back, and Herc grinned.

By the time they headed to Paris, Herc was sore from all the exercise he’d gotten – and knew that Connor had become a friend.

Paris, unlike New York, seduced him. It helped, Herc reflected later, that Nick Wolfe, Richie’s boyfriend, was a consummate host whose personal residence was above a bar, Sanctuary, built on the ruins of a church. The bar thus qualified as holy ground – and Herc, who hadn’t been in a church since he was a boy, had been stunned to feel the difference. It felt like peace. Noticing the look on Herc’s face, Nick had grinned and handed him a beer.

In both cities, Herc assumed that the other, more experienced immortals were protecting him from both headhunters and paparazzi, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. All he could think about was how his life had come to this: his brother in rehab instead of prison, his son in the jaeger academy, and both of them hated Herc.

As if sensing his thoughts, Richie glanced over at him as they sat in a corner of Sanctuary. Half-finished pints of an intensely flavorful beer sat before them on the table; blues guitar wailed out over the speakers. It was mid-afternoon, the day before Herc was due to fly back to Sydney. Richie wasn’t flying back with him; if he wanted to be a jaeger tech on another jaeger, he’d have to reapply, and Richie wasn’t completely committed to the idea.

“If you’d like some bruises to go with that self-flagellation, we can spar upstairs,” Richie said mildly.

Herc laughed ruefully as a sandy-brown haired man dressed in a dark green shirt and black jeans pulled up a chair. “Leave the man alone, Richie. He’s on vacation.”

“Thanks, Nick,” Herc said gratefully.

“However, it occurs to me that you haven’t sparred with me yet,” Nick said, flashing a grin. “Up for a friendly fight from someone not trained by the MacLeods?”

Herc considered the offer and found he couldn’t refuse. Ten minutes later, he found himself fighting someone who had been trained as a boxer first, a swordsman second. Richie had taught Herc how to fight with everything he had and win; Nick just fought. The sheer ruthlessness of the fight made Herc grin in appreciation. Nick won, but barely.

“Damn it,” Nick said, grinning as he stepped back. “You’re better than I thought.”

Richie, who’d been watching the fight from the sidelines, sounded affronted as he said, “You think I’d let him loose without training him properly?”

“Properly, fuck properly. You fight viciously, Herc. It’s a good thing.” 

Herc laughed. “Coming from anyone else, I’m not sure I’d take that as a compliment.”

Nick’s grin widened. “It is, trust me. Now come on. Shower and change. It’s your last night in Paris; let’s make it memorable.”

“I’m not doing anything that’ll get me arrested, and I’m not looking to get laid either,” Herc warned.

Nick shook his head. “Nothing of the sort. There’s a cabaret show I like not far from here; the owner’s a friend of mine, and the food and the dancers are worth the evening.”

“Mate, I have a long flight back,” Herc began to protest.

“No, you have a boring flight back,” Nick corrected. “Which means that you need something else to think about besides what happened to you and your brother two weeks ago. And no, I don’t know the details and I don’t want to know the details. I just know that you were copiloting a jaeger that was destroyed by the kaiju.” Nick met his gaze. “That’s enough detail for me.”

Herc breathed out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He knew secrets were often shared between spouses and partners; he’d fully expected Richie to tell Nick what he knew. “Thanks. In that case – do I need to wear anything different?”

Nick smiled. “Did you pack anything a little dressier – slacks, dress shirt, tie?”

Herc nodded. “Wasn’t sure if I’d wind up doing anything fancy.”

“Then wear that and we’ll be set.”


	2. Chapter 2

Coming home after two weeks of fun things to do and dynamic people to share them with was a bit of a letdown. The cabaret – one of the longest running in the city – had been an experience Herc would never forget. Nick and Richie’s relationship didn’t seem to have been affected by their long separation, and it made Herc realize that while he still grieved over the loss of his wife, he had no good reason to remain a monk other than perhaps a lack of time. Herc hadn’t been ready before, though he wasn’t sure if any sort of relationship was even feasible. The realization made Herc feel a little bit better about his situation.

In both New York and Paris, the threat posed by the kaiju felt like it didn’t exist, though Herc had caught a news clip that mentioned the latest kill by a Lima-based jaeger. Herc wasn’t sure how he managed to dodge all of the reporters, but then he considered whom he’d been with. Connor had been dodging people for four centuries, immortals and mortals alike; Nick owned a bar on holy ground. Neither man was given to drawing attention, and Herc suspected that Nick had used his friendship with the cabaret’s owner to make sure that Herc’s celebrity as a jaeger pilot would go unremarked.

Still, he was not surprised to get a text from Nick when he checked his phone when the charter flight stopped to refuel. The text was labeled, “Anytime you want to claim me and Richie as family, you’re welcome,” and had a link to a news article.

_Spied! Sr. Ranger Herc Hansen leaving Lido de Paris with local business owner Nick Wolfe and a companion who looks like he could be related to the jaeger pilot. This is the first time Sr. Ranger Herc Hansen has been seen in public since Lucky Seven was fatally damaged by a kaiju two weeks ago. Could family have brought the handsome but reserved Aussie to Paris?_

If he’d seen that article two weeks ago, Herc knew he’d have been offended. Yet the time he’d spent with Nick and Richie had felt like a kind of coming home to a place he’d always be welcome, no questions asked. Amused, Herc had sent Nick a text back and cc’d Richie that said, “Appreciate it, but the PPDC won’t let me claim any more dependents.”

He received a text back that was an emoji of someone laughing followed by “Independently wealthy – who said anything about you taking care of us? Family’s more than blood. It’s who’s there when you’re going through your life in its best and worst moments.”

Struck by that, Herc hadn’t replied. He had a feeling Nick wasn’t expecting one.

Now, as he stood in his quarters, memories of other homecomings rushed through Herc. Before when he’d been away on PPDC business, Herc had come home either to his son or his brother or both – but the only evidence that Scott had ever lived here was the pack of condoms and tube of half-empty lubricant the packing crew had left behind, assuming it might belong to Herc. Chuck was at the Jaeger Academy, with sixteen weeks left to go. His bed had been stripped but not remade, and it looked like a brand-new mattress had been put on the bed. His collection of jaeger figurines, every one of them signed by the pilots, had been dusted. The whole apartment looked and smelled like a deep cleaning had been performed. Even the linens were fresh; the refrigerator had been emptied and refilled with new juices and snacks, which meant the half-finished beer Scott had left was gone. 

Mentally refusing to let himself dwell on why everything was so pristine, Herc unpacked his bags and sorted out his laundry. He had a day to recuperate from his trip before he began the process of narrowing down who he wanted to be his new copilot in the newly named Mark-5 jaeger, Striker Eureka, which was due to be complete in the same time as Chuck’s training.

He half-hoped to see an email message from his son, telling him how he was progressing in the Academy, but his inbox was full of PPDC-related business. Herc skimmed through them, not seeing anything he needed to address right now, deleting the ones that weren’t as critical. He did see an email from Marshal Carrodus, telling him that the drive suit tech Scott had bribed had been disciplined to the extent punishable for that crime in accordance with PPDC protocols. In the same email, Marshal Carrodus also notified Herc that an internal investigation had shown that Scott had also bribed a guard to look the other way when he brought in the girl who'd died; that guard had also been punished. It wasn't enough, Herc thought, and would never be enough; nothing would bring that girl back from the dead or change the fact that Scott had gotten a lesser punishment than he deserved. With a resigned sigh, Herc sent Chuck an email letting him know he was back in Sydney, since Chuck wasn’t allowed a cell phone during training, and then texted Richie and Nick to let them know he’d arrived safely.

Those tasks complete, Herc took a shower and then fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

“You can’t be serious,” Herc said, shocked, six weeks later, as he stood in the office of the Sydney Shatterdome’s marshal.

Marshal Carrodus was a petite woman who looked like Tinker Bell, but Herc already knew she was not someone to cross. She sighed, typed a command into her computer, and rose to her feet. “Come with me,” she ordered.

Herc followed her to Medical, where Dr. Lavrova, the head physician, met them. Dr. Lavrova led them to the small conference room just off the entrance to the clinic. He spent a moment calling up screens.

“This is your latest neural scan results, Ranger Hansen,” he said, indicating the image on the left. “And this is your son’s,” he said, indicating the image on the right.

Marshal Carrodus picked up the narrative. “We’d like to begin testing the two of you to see if you can Drift, since Striker Eureka’s completion date is drawing near.”

“What about Maddy Hamilton?” Herc asked almost desperately. “We did well together in the tests earlier this week.”

Marshal Carrodus shook her head as Dr. Lavrova brought up the Scottish woman’s neural scan results. 

“As a Senior Ranger, you are expected to have a higher compatibility score than a lower-ranked pilot,” Marshal Carrodus reminded him. “You and Ranger Hamilton were scored at 70%. You and your brother started out at 80% and dropped to 76% over the course of the last four years.”

Guilt flooded through Herc at those words. _I should’ve seen Scott self-destructing; I should’ve tried harder to stop him,_ ran through his mind. Unconsciously, he straightened his spine. “70% is still considered sufficient compatibility, ma’am.”

“Yes, but Chuck isn’t socializing well with his peers. He’s contemptuous of them. He outshines them in his knowledge of jaeger engineering and Drift mechanics, and he regularly trounces them in any of the physical drills that are thrown at the cadets. In his visits with the Academy psychologists, he says that he is better than any of his fellow cadets.” Marshal Carrodus let out a breath. “On paper, your son is the best jaeger pilot we’ve ever had. But if everyone hates him, no one will be willing to crawl into his head.”

“Not sure I’d be any better, ma’am. He still hasn’t forgiven me for not being able to rescue his mom, and he blames me for what happened to Scott.”

Marshal Carrodus didn’t look surprised by that, and Herc suddenly got the feeling this was just a charade. The decision had already been made; this was just to make him feel like he had a choice. “Chuck has been paired with Viviana Canales, whom he has not managed to alienate. However, the Australian government would strongly prefer that two Australians pilot the newest, best jaeger.”

“And if Chuck and I aren’t compatible?” Herc challenged, annoyance showing in the way he dropped the formal address.

Marshal Carrodus looked unruffled. “Then you will be offered a position within the PPDC command, and the jaeger will go to Chuck and his copilot.”

“Despite the Beckets’ success in Gipsy Danger,” Herc began, barely reining in his anger at the PPDC’s highhandedness, “putting my son with someone else in a brand-new jaeger to fight the kind of kaiju we’re facing now is almost a death sentence. Hell, even the Beckets barely survived their first encounter.”

Marshal Carrodus took a moment to dismiss the head physician, who’d been standing there listening and looking increasingly uncomfortable. She waited until Dr. Lavrova was out of the room before she spoke again. “Herc. I know you’re feeling manipulated right now, but as a person, I would rather see one of the best pilots we have in the newest jaeger. As your marshal, I need you to be there.”

Herc closed his eyes briefly. “Permission to travel to the Jaeger Academy, ma’am, and discuss this with my son? If we aren’t Drift compatible, then my feelings on this…situation are irrelevant.”

“Of course,” Marshal Carrodus said, her voice unexpectedly gentle. In that moment, Herc remembered that she had often fussed over Chuck as if he were her own son. “Would you prefer to fly out this afternoon or tomorrow morning?”

“This afternoon, ma’am; it’s a long flight to Kodiak Island.”

Marshal Carrodus nodded. “Best you get packing then; you’ll be at the Academy at least a week. Be on the flight deck in an hour.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Dismissed.”

Herc executed his most perfect pivot and left the conference room, his mind racing as he tried to control his emotions. The one advantage of taking a jumphawk to the Academy was that he wouldn’t have to worry about transporting his sword and putting it in baggage claim. As the thought crossed his mind, he bit back a nearly hysterical laugh.

 _You’ve faced three immortals to the death, Herc,_ he told himself. _Hell, you sparred with Connor MacLeod and Nick Wolfe, plus all the times you've spent with Richie. Telling Chuck that you’ll be Drifting with him is not that terrifying in comparison._

He couldn’t quite convince himself, though. There were secrets he hadn’t shared with Chuck, parts of Herc’s past even before he’d known he was immortal that as a parent he never wanted to share with his son. Facing an immortal who wanted Herc dead seemed somehow infinitely easier than what was to come. Drifting left a soul bare, and he was very much afraid that Chuck would find his father's lacking.


	4. Chapter 4

Herc was nervous as he sat in one of the Academy’s conference rooms, waiting for Chuck to show up.

“Dad? What are you doing here?” Chuck wondered, walking in.

“Shut the door please,” Herc said. “I have good news and some maybe not so good news.”

“Is this about Uncle Scott? Nobody will tell me where he is, not even Marshal Carrodus and she always could.”

Herc breathed carefully. It was one thing to know the marshal had a soft spot for Chuck; it was completely another to realize Chuck had used it to make sure he knew where his uncle was. _What else did Chuck know that he wasn’t supposed to?_ “I’ll get to that in a minute. The good news is that you’ll be getting a jaeger.”

Chuck stared. Then he eyed Herc suspiciously. “No cadet’s ever been awarded a jaeger this early in training.”

“Well, that’s where the bad news comes in. If you and I can Drift, we’ll be in the new Mark-5.”

Gobsmacked, Chuck struggled to find words. “Why can’t Uncle Scott pilot?”

Herc let out a breath. “He was high on blue fever when he stepped into Lucky Seven that last time.” He took another breath. “I…I can’t talk about the rest, but Scott has been dishonorably discharged. He’ll never be allowed in the PPDC again.”

Chuck absorbed that, and Herc readied himself for the anger. The quieter Chuck got, the more likely he was furious. “Then good riddance,” Chuck spat. “He never thanked me for anything, not even for saving his worthless life.”

Herc started to automatically defend Scott, but something in Chuck’s eyes stopped him. “You did a good thing, Chuck,” Herc said quietly instead. “Even if Scott was an ass.”

Chuck shook his head dismissively. “We gonna Drift or what, old man?”

“Don’t call me that,” Herc said sharply. “But yes, we’re going to Drift.”

“Then let’s get on with it,” Chuck said impatiently.

“No questions?”

Chuck made a face. “It’s not like you’re a stranger,” he said dismissively. “What? Like I’m going to be squicked by you and mom having sex?”

“Wasn’t thinking about that,” Herc snapped. Herc had been thinking more along the lines of the immortals he’d fought or the combat he experienced as RAAF helicopter pilot, not of his late wife. Suddenly, he was reminded of how, when Chuck was four, they’d accidentally left the door to their bedroom open, only to discover when they collapsed in pleasure-induced exhaustion that they’d had a wide-eyed audience the entire time. Embarrassed, Herc and Angela had tried to be diligent about making sure they shut the door to their bedroom.

“Whatever,” Chuck said. “Can we get on with it?”

Herc studied his son. At sixteen, Chuck stood a mere two inches shorter than his father. His frame was muscular from the years of working out with his father and his uncle; the weeks in the Academy had trimmed him further. By Australia’s standards, Chuck was legally an adult – but Herc couldn’t help remembering how tiny he’d been as a baby. Was he selfish for wanting to jockey again and not go into command, as his friend Stacker Pentecost had done? Or was he just making sure Chuck lived long enough to handle what he had: the potential of his immortality? Questions swirled in his mind, but his orders were clear: Drift with his son, or move to Command.

“Yeah,” Herc finally said, “let’s go.”


	5. Chapter 5

Walking into the Jaeger Academy’s simulation room felt like coming back to elementary school long after Herc had outgrown the chairs. It didn’t seem like it had been five years since he’d dropped Chuck off with his maternal grandparents and had come here with Scott. What made it seem even more incongruent was that some of the same technicians were at the controls of the simulator. The PONs devices, which created the pilot-to-pilot neural connection, were the same as what the pilots used in the jaegers. Only the kaiju and the battles were simulated, but the Academy had been set up to make being in a conn-pod as real as it could get without a full-scale jaeger. 

For this first, crucial test, however, they would be sitting in chairs with the PONs devices attached to their heads, the false floor of the Academy’s conn-pod in place. The video screens of the ‘jaeger’ would be turned off; this was simply to see if they could Drift. For Herc, who’d been doing a version of this in the Sydney Shatterdome for the last several weeks, it still felt surreal. Chuck just looked like he wanted to skip this part entirely, bolt on a drive suit, and start killing kaiju.

“Commencing pilot-to-pilot connection in fifteen seconds,” the Academy’s LOCCENT tech announced and began counting down.

Herc took a deep breath and let out. For some reason, the first thing that popped into his mind was Richie telling him and Scott ‘don’t think of elephants.’ He grinned, and deliberately thought of pink elephants as he was pulled into the Drift.

 _Herc meeting Angela for the first time when they were both in high school and kissing her under the bleachers. Marrying her as soon as they were both eighteen. His pride at coming home to a then-six-month old son, battle-scarred from his tour of duty overseas, but otherwise in one piece. Stealing the helicopter to save Chuck on that horrible, horrible day, and the mingled grief and relief that he still had his son, but not his beloved Angela. Learning to fight with a sword._ Deliberately, Herc refocused the memory, unwilling to let his son know exactly why that mattered. _Richie laughing as he sat on Nick’s lap and then kissing him. How Herc felt relieved to know his teacher and friend was loved as Herc had been loved, regardless of the time they’d spent apart. Wanting to avenge Angela's death and keep his son safe._

Herc caught the rush of memories from his son as they tried to find a balance in the Drift.

_Four years old and hearing Mommy and Daddy making weird noises, and then getting in trouble for investigating. Six years old and riding on the back of Herc’s motorcycle. Decorating his helmet with stickers of superheroes. Waving Herc goodbye for a two-week training assignment in Japan. The 50cc Honda dirt bike Scott gifted him with for Christmas when Chuck was eight, despite Angela’s initial objections. Riding that bike around south Sydney and dropping it for the first time, with only minor scrapes to show for it. Herc’s pride in Chuck for remembering to wear his gear. Watching the news reports about Trespasser in San Francisco when Chuck was nine, never thinking that a year later everything would change. Chuck, in the Sydney Shatterdome, learning everything he could about being a jaeger pilot so he could avenge his mother’s death. Sitting with Richie in Lucky Seven’s crew lounge, awkwardly asking about sex to clear up the confusion Scott had instilled, and Richie handling it gracefully. Going to the Jaeger Academy, finding the dream coming true. Finally, Angela Hansen would be avenged._

On that point, Herc felt his mind merge with his son’s.

He turned his head to look at Chuck, who sat, stunned, for a full minute before leaping to his feet. “HOO-YAH!” he yelled, lifting his right arm, making a fist with his right hand, and shaking it in victory. Realizing that there were techs watching, Chuck looked around, then turned to his dad. Pride and excitement and love filled their connection, without an ounce of shame or regret. “Not bad for a first Drift, yeah? And really, pink elephants?”

Laughing helplessly, Herc nodded, his heart surging with pride.


	6. Chapter 6

The following morning found them once again in the Academy’s conn-pod simulator. This time the techs had set up the standard first-round kaiju battle: Trespasser in a Mark I jaeger Herc recognized as Horizon Brave.

Chuck glanced over at him. “Didn’t you pilot that one once?” he asked as they settled into their harnesses and cued up the controls for the pilot-to-pilot connection.

Herc barked a laugh. “Once. They thought we’d be better if we could be switched out like parts.”

“Huh. Is that why you and Uncle Scott were gone so much those first six months after you graduated from the Academy?”

“Yeah. Until we were assigned Lucky Seven, I couldn’t be sure he and I would drop together.” He paused and looked over at his son. “Ready?”

Chuck nodded.

Herc flipped the toggle switch for the voice communications with LOCCENT and spoke into his mic. “Ready for neural handshake.”

“Acknowledged,” the male LOCCENT tech said. Every LOCCENT tech had his own style that reflected each ‘dome’s personality; here in the Academy, they stuck to the basic script. It made Herc miss Sydney – and its French LOCCENT chief – with a sudden ache.

He knew Chuck felt homesick, too, the moment their Drift connected. With the control Herc had learned from the time he’d spent Drifting with others and from having to center himself when he took a Quickening, Herc pushed the emotion away. _Focus,_ he told Chuck.

He felt more than saw Chuck’s agreement, then they were in the middle of the battle. The trainers did more than wish fulfillment – this was a test to see if a cadet could control his thirst for vengeance, maneuver around obstacles, communicate with LOCCENT, and execute the mission. Those who succeeded at the test moved on to the next stage. Chuck’s advantage was that Herc had been here before and knew what to expect.

Even so, Herc felt his son’s hesitation at following his commands, heard the second-guessing that was going on in Chuck’s mind. It made Herc flash instantly on the memory of Richie telling Herc, “You can play Monday morning quarterback after you’ve won.”

Chuck gave him a strange look, but Herc was too focused on fighting the simulated kaiju to give it more than a passing thought. “Come on, Chuck, focus!” Herc yelled.

Ten minutes later, the kaiju was dead and the simulation’s AI intoned, “Simulation complete.”

Chuck disconnected from the harness as Herc did the same. “You owe me an explanation, old man,” Chuck said coldly.

Startled, Herc stared as his son as the conn-pod doors opened to reveal the Academy instructors. “Later,” Herc replied, hoping that whatever it was, it could wait. To the instructors, he said, “So how’d we do?”

The instructors beamed. “Very well. We’ll move onto less fantasy this afternoon provided you’re cleared by Medical. For now, please proceed to Medical for your post-battle checkup.”

“I feel fine,” Chuck very nearly whined.

“Standard protocol after a battle. Get used to it, son,” Herc reminded him.

Chuck said nothing as they went through the medical checkup, which meant to make sure that neither of them was bleeding from any sinus cavities, experiencing double vision, or a migraine – all signs of Drift side effects. Some jaeger pilot candidates had been disqualified based on the severity of their reactions to the Drift. Herc felt a sigh of relief and pride when he learned that Chuck passed his medical exam with flying colors.

Their second simulated battle, held after a break for lunch, was Lucky Seven’s battle against K-13. Herc groaned when he saw what they were facing, and the jaeger configuration. He knew the instructors didn’t know the details of what happened in the conn-pod between him and Scott, but they knew that any pilot who’d suffered injury in battle was likely to remember it. In that moment, he hated the instructors for wanting to trigger that memory and see if Herc could rein in the urge to chase that RABIT.

Herc knew he couldn’t order them to change it up to something else. His rank as a Senior Ranger meant nothing here; it was merely yet another learning experience as far as the instructors were concerned. They weren’t cleared to know what he knew, and he wasn’t cleared to tell them. With a deep breath, Herc sucked it up and focused on thinking about how he would’ve done better, if it had been any other day in his jaeger. He couldn’t help remembering that day had sucked – and hastily shunted his focus away from the challenge he’d won before being called to duty. Much to his surprise, K-13 went down in no time flat, though the current of raw hate coming from his son disturbed him.

Shaking it off as just another manifestation of his son’s conviction that Herc should've been able to rescue Angela, Herc headed to Medical to be cleared again.


	7. Chapter 7

After they’d been cleared by Medical a second time, Herc headed for his temporary quarters, and wasn’t surprised to find his son hot on his heels. As soon as the door shut behind Chuck, Herc turned to face his son. “Something you want to know?”

“Why did he have to kill someone in my bed?” Chuck demanded. “What was wrong with his?”

Herc knew exactly who ‘he’ was. “I don’t know, Chuck. They replaced the mattress and cleaned our quarters.”

“Not gonna change how I think about it,” Chuck snapped. “You should’ve –”

“What?” Herc demanded, half afraid of what Chuck would think of; he knew his son’s imagination was vast. “You think I haven’t taken apart that day over and over? You think I don’t blame myself for not seeing my own brother was self-destructing? You think you could’ve done better?”

Startled to see his father’s anger, Chuck fell silent. “No,” he said.

“Then what’s your problem?”

“You should’ve waited until after you killed the kaiju to beat him up!”

“And you would’ve controlled yourself better?” Herc demanded.

“Maybe,” Chuck said defiantly. 

Herc shook his head. “You think that now, but you don’t know how you’re going to react until it happens. Besides, Scott would’ve taken my silence for acceptance, and there’s no way I could let him get away with what he did.”

Chuck rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Uncle Scott’s going to prison, isn’t he?”

“No, but he won’t be leaving the rehabilitation facility for at least five years. He’s been dishonorably discharged.” Herc paused before adding, “And none of us can talk about this to anyone.”

“I hate him,” Chuck declared. “He never liked Richie anyway.”

Herc eyed his son, certain that there was more. “That’s your criteria for judging people?”

Chuck nodded. “Richie always made sure I was safe. Uncle Scott didn’t care, and he used to. Remember that jacket he got me to go with my first motorcycle, the one with the CE armor everywhere?”

Herc had forgotten that, but thinking of it now, he remembered how that had been part of the closing argument he’d used on his wife – that if Chuck wore his gear all the time, he’d be safer. “Remember the fit you threw when you outgrew that,” Herc said roughly.

Chuck had the grace to look sheepish. “I liked it a lot. I used to think Uncle Scott was the coolest ever. What made him change?”

“He found out that when you’re a jaeger pilot, there are people throwing themselves at you who’ll give you sex, alcohol, and drugs,” Herc said flatly. “When we were kids, he used to say that he was going to be a rock ‘n’ roll star.”

“Stupid,” Chuck said contemptuously. “What’s more important than killing kaiju?”

“Love and family,” Herc pointed out. “And sex can be fun with the right person as long as you’re safe.”

Chuck shrugged. “I saw Uncle Scott going for whoever would scratch his itch,” he reminded Herc. “Didn’t seem to make him happy.” He paused. “Besides. I want what you and Mom had. What you saw Richie has. I didn’t really believe him when he said he had a boyfriend.”

Herc swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Yeah, he does. Nick’s very grounded; it was good to get to know him.” He looked at his son. “You don’t seem surprised that Scott...did what he did.”

“I talked to Richie after…after Uncle Scott drank too much that one time. Asked him why. Richie said some people go looking for something to fill the hole inside them, and he thought Uncle Scott was like that, that if Uncle Scott couldn’t drink anymore, then he’d turn to something else until he was stopped or died.”

Herc made a mental note to call Richie and thank him profusely for being there for his son. “Yeah. I didn’t think it would get that bad. Should’ve asked Richie, yeah?”

Chuck shrugged restlessly. “Maybe. I was going to tell you but you were busy and Uncle Scott didn’t drink anymore like he used to so I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

 _Lessons learned the hard way, for both of us,_ Herc thought. “Anything else?”

Chuck was silent for a minute before he burst out with, “Swords. Why the fuck do I keep seeing swords and you fighting with them every time we’ve Drifted? And don’t give me that shit you gave me when I was twelve. I believed it then. I don’t believe it now. You think of Richie as your teacher. Why?”

“Watch your language,” Herc snapped automatically as his heart sank. Some part of him – the protective father who’d risked so much – had hoped never to have this conversation. He knew, though, that he’d put it off too long as it was. “Sit down, Chuck.”

Chuck stood defiantly, arms crossed. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

Herc sighed and debated how he was going to explain a secret he’d been keeping for years. Finally, he drew the boot knife Richie had given him.

“Take it,” he told Chuck, “and cut me with it.”

“Wha-I can’t do that!”

“Do it,” Herc ordered, and put Chuck’s hand on the knife. Before Chuck could object again, Herc drew the sharp edge against his wrist, slicing the artery open. Blood spilled as the smell of ozone filled the air. Shocked, Chuck tried to drop the knife, but Herc held it firmly. Lightning stitched up Herc’s wound, and he set the knife down. 

“D-d-dad?” Chuck stammered. “Wha-what’s that?”

“It’s the Quickening,” Herc said softly. “It’s what makes me immortal.”

Chuck stared at him, and Herc grabbed a nearby shirt to wipe off what little blood remained. “You’re not on that blue fever shit Uncle Scott was on, are you?”

“No,” Herc said flatly. “And as much as I’d like for this to be some kind of screwed-up fairytale, it’s not.”

Chuck stared at Herc, then the now-cleaned blade, then at Herc. “If that heals, how come your tattoo doesn’t?”

Herc glanced at the stylized sun tattoo that adorned his right forearm – a compromise, he’d thought back when he’d gotten it, between the RAAF logo and his patriotic pride. “Because I got it before I died the first time.”

Chuck picked up the knife, and before Herc could stop him, stabbed him. Herc died with a shocked gasp, then revived a few minutes later to see his son watching him warily.

“The fuck?” Herc demanded, too shocked by the action to censor himself.

“You said you were immortal, and I needed more proof,” Chuck said in a small, not-quite-believing voice. He’d put the knife down between them. “If you didn’t get up, I was going to call for a medic and say it was an accident.”

“Damn it, Chuck, do you really hate me that much?” Herc picked up the knife, wiped it clean, and put it back in his boot.

“You lied to me,” Chuck shot back. “All these years you lied to me.”

“For your own good!” Herc retorted. “Do you think it was easy?”

“Looked like from where I’m sitting,” Chuck said calmly, twisting the metaphorical knife deeper in Herc’s heart. “But that still doesn’t explain the swords.”

“Immortals fight each other to the death. They call it a Game, but it’s really a genocide, with the prize of having enough power to rule the world.”

“If you’re immortal, that means you can’t die.”

“I can,” Herc told Chuck. “If my head leaves my body, that’s it. I’m dead forever. And Chuck? If you really want to kill me, use a sword.”

Chuck stared at him. “You can’t die,” he said. “You can’t,” and suddenly he sounded all of seven years old and not wanting Herc to leave for yet another tour of duty.

Herc rose and pulled Chuck close. “Hey. That’s why I have a sword, and that’s why Richie trained me. So I can live forever.”

Chuck studied him, his eyes wet with unshed tears. “Nobody can know,” he deduced. “Else everyone will want to take you apart. And Uncle Scott knew and he was jealous because nothing he’d do would ever match that. That’s why he went looking for…whatever the hell he was looking for.”

 _Scott forgot how observant Chuck is,_ Herc thought. _Hell, I forgot. Shit._ “He kept this a secret,” Herc said quietly. “It’s one of the few things he did do right. I need you to do that for me, too. That’s why I didn’t tell you sooner. I needed you to be able to understand me when I say being an immortal is dangerous.”

Chuck looked at Herc, stepped out of Herc’s embrace, and lifted his chin. “And you thought I was too young.”

Herc nodded once.

“Too angry with you for not saving Mom, even if it was logistically impossible.”

Herc nodded. 

“Well, I’m still angry, but I understand why.” Chuck let out a breath, then visibly considered his words. “I’m sorry for stabbing you, but I had to know.”

“Apology accepted, but…next time? Ask. I didn’t bring too many extra shirts and the next person you stab might not get up like me.”

“Like you’re going to let me come at you like that again,” Chuck noted dryly. “Do you still have the same sword Richie gave you? Can I see it?”

“Yes.” Herc drew it from the scabbard he’d stashed in a duffel bag.

“That’s still wicked cool,” Chuck decided. “Do you wear it under your drive suit?”

“Interferes with the neural mapping,” Herc said, “since my scabbard runs down my spine when I wear it. And no, you aren’t figuring out how to make it work, because if some headhunter got that close, it means that we’re going to be fucked if I don’t get into the conn-pod.”

Chuck was quiet a moment. “People really do come after you for your head? Why?”

“Like I said. Power. If you’re an immortal and you win, you get an instant download of your opponent’s knowledge through their Quickening.”

“Is it fun?”

“Not really, no.”

“I think I’d rather fight kaiju,” Chuck declared.

“You and me both, son.” Herc paused. “You’re not mad at me for waiting to tell you?”

Chuck sighed, looking older than his years. “You were being a dad, duh. And…” he took a deep breath, “…you didn’t want to tell me you’d fought like that.”

“You…saw?”

Chuck nodded. “When you saw K-13 again, I saw you remembering that you and Richie had to fight. You’re not going to get arrested, are you?”

“Not planning on it, no. I’d claim self-defense if it came down to it.”

Nodding, Chuck accepted that explanation. “But you gotta teach me what to look out for, so I know who to avoid.”

“As long as you promise me you won’t try to fight them yourself? That includes trying to buy them off with money or sex.”

Chuck shuddered. “Ew. That just sounds stupid. Also gross.” He looked at Herc and said perceptively, “Uncle Scott did that.” At Herc’s nod, Chuck said, “What an idiot.”

“Chuck?”

“I promise. Sheez. Is Richie going to work on our new jaeger?”

“Don’t think so,” Herc said quietly. “He and Nick just got back together again and they live in Paris.”

Chuck pouted briefly. “Fine. Are you going to dinner? I’m hungry.”

Herc bit back a laugh. _Chuck was a Hansen,_ he thought, _rolling with the punches and coming up fighting._ “Then let’s go to dinner.” 

Chuck started for the door, then stopped and turned. “Dad?”

“Yes, Chuck?”

“I’m going to be like you, aren’t I?”

Gut-punched, for he’d thought he’d managed to hide that fact in the Drift, Herc fought to breathe. With a deep inhale, he looked to his son and decided – no more secrets, no more lying, nothing hidden. “Yes,” Herc said, exhaling.

“But I wasn’t supposed to know,” Chuck said.

Herc nodded slowly. “Richie thought you might be inclined to be more reckless if you knew.”

Chuck stood up straighter. “Shows what he knows about me.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why’d you hide it from me?”

“Because you’re my son,” Herc said passionately. “As you said so eloquently earlier, I was being a dad.”

“Huh,” Chuck said. “That’s why you were so mad when I climbed Lucky Seven without a harness. You were scared.”

“Terrified, actually.”

Chuck considered this. “If I’d known this before…” He took a deep breath and let it out before saying, “Yeah, I would’ve tested it. Just to know for sure.”

“And then if you'd died your first death, you’d have been stuck in that body forever,” Herc pointed out. “Richie died when he was nineteen.”

“Nineteen’s not bad,” Chuck said. “But I saw how some people thought he was too young to know what he knew.”

“Oi, don’t get ideas,” Herc said warningly. “And don’t go discussing this with anyone else other than Richie or me, understood?”

“I’m not stupid, old man,” Chuck said. “Just…considering.”

“Well, whatever you’re considering can wait,” Herc said firmly. “I seem to recall you wanted dinner.” Without waiting for a response, Herc opened the door and guided his unresisting son through it.


	8. Chapter 8

Herc kept waiting for Chuck’s anger to bleed through again, but it was as if Chuck had decided that now that he knew the truth, he was going to focus on what he needed to know to be the best jaeger pilot. He did ask if he could have a boot knife like Herc had (“as long as it’s not Scott’s”), and it made Herc think that a knife while would be useful, something else would probably be better.

They spent the next several weeks running through various simulations and working on their physical fitness. Chuck was also required to take some of the same classes as his fellow graduates so that he would have the same base knowledge; when it become clear that he was thoroughly bored since he knew it already, the instructors hastily arranged for him to test out of the classes. Chuck was fitted for his first official drive suit as a pilot, including the neural layer. Six weeks later, when the Jaeger Academy Class of 2019 was officially graduated, Chuck had grown another inch. The decision was made to wait to fabricate a new drive suit after he returned to Sydney.

After graduation, they were flown immediately back to Sydney for the final conn-pod customizations in Striker Eureka. Chuck suffered through the drive suit fittings with ill-concealed grace, and snapped at the tech who dared to complain that he needed to stop growing. She meant it teasingly, but Chuck, on edge because she kept touching him with her measuring tape, growled, “I’m sixteen, mate, I got another year or two before I do. Did you not study biology in school?”

Herc, who’d been watching the fitting on the sidelines, spoke up. “How much longer do you need Chuck?” he asked the tech. “Getting a mite chilly in here.”

It wasn’t – the drive suit room was a comfortable temperature – but Herc knew just how three hours of fittings wore thin, especially since the neural underlayer required a pilot to be wearing minimalist underwear. 

The tech looked bewildered, then checked her watch. “Let me just take one last measurement, sir.”

Herc narrowed his eyes. “You took a visual scan when I was last fitted. Why are you doing it with a tape measure this time? If it’s because you’re admiring my son, you might want to reconsider your position.”

“I just wanted to be sure the visual scan would be correct, sir,” the tech tried to cover herself. 

“Then quit wasting our time and bring out the scanner,” Herc ordered her. “Or I’ll ask that someone else come in and do this.”

“Yes, sir,” the tech said, clearly realizing she’d overstepped her bounds. 

Chuck bolted for the locker room as soon as the scanner beeped to indicate it was complete. Herc sent the marshal a quick text to report the tech’s behavior.

“Let this be a warning,” Herc told the tech coldly. “Just because you’re in a position to touch someone doesn’t mean you have consent to abuse that permission.”

Herc didn’t wait for her reaction, more concerned with his son’s. He found Chuck in the locker room, fully dressed, seated on one of the benches, and shaking.

“You okay, Chuck?”

“She didn’t grope me but she might as well have. She had no right. No right to touch me like that,” Chuck growled, and his anger was a palatable thing. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“Took me that long to figure out what was going on,” Herc defended his actions. “Thought maybe it was just a new technique since the newer suits are more technical.”

Chuck made a disgruntled sound.

“Come on, let’s get back to our quarters,” Herc said. “I have a surprise for you.”

Chuck took a deep breath and then rose to his feet. He followed Herc out of the drive suit locker room and through the ‘dome to their quarters. Given Chuck’s reaction to the news of what Scott had done, Herc had arranged for them to be moved to a different suite altogether. Their new quarters were naturally smaller, since they moved from a two bedroom down to a one-bedroom suite. 

“So where’s this surprise?”

Herc stepped into the bathroom, relieved to see that his request had been filled. A box with air holes sat on the counter, with supplies in a small milk crate behind it. Picking up the box, he heard claws scrambling for purchase, and brought the box out to Chuck.

“What the…” Chuck began, and Herc set it down.

“Open it,” Herc said.

Almost as if he was afraid of what was inside, Chuck opened the lid and lifted out the sleepy bulldog puppy that was inside. “It’s mine?” Chuck asked disbelievingly.

“Yours. Would’ve gotten him to you sooner, but I needed the marshal’s permission and you needed to graduate.”

“Is that why there’s a big black plastic sheet over where Striker’s logo would go?”

“Took one of your old drawings,” Herc said. “Hope you don’t mind.”

Chuck’s eyes narrowed, but he never let go of the puppy. “The one with the bulldog with the bomb in his mouth? The one I wanted Lucky Seven to have?”

Herc nodded. “Seemed right, since this is our jaeger now.”

“What’s his name?”

“He’s pedigreed, so he has papers, but Prince Maximilian Blaze sounds too pretentious to me.”

“I’ll call him Max,” Chuck decided. The puppy, now fully awake, licked the side of his face, making Chuck squirm.

“Now, the condition of you keeping him is that you’re responsible for him. That means you’re responsible for cleaning up his poop, making sure he’s fed and watered, and that he gets trained. He’s going to slobber all over, because that’s what bulldogs do. I’m not living with an unruly dog, understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Chuck said.

Herc stepped into the bathroom to pick up the milk crate and returned to the main living area. “There’s stuff for him in this crate, including a book on caring for dogs. I’ll help you, but Max is your dog, not mine.” Herc paused. “Marshal Carrodus said she’ll request a vet when we need one, but she expects Max to be on a leash whenever he’s out in the common areas. If we want a dog trainer to come, she’ll arrange that too. If we run out of food, we request it like any other food we want in the kitchenette.”

Chuck just sat there, holding the now-wriggling puppy, stunned. For a moment, he wasn’t the PPDC’s youngest jaeger pilot ever – he was just a boy with a puppy.

“You never let me have a dog before,” Chuck said a few minutes later, letting the puppy check out the room as Chuck set up the food and water bowls in a corner of the room.

“Your mom was allergic,” Herc told Chuck. “We had dogs growing up, which means that I know if you leave something out, it’s going to get chewed on.”

Chuck filled the food bowl and put the puppy down in front of it. The puppy ate eagerly. “I want the dog trainer,” he told Herc. “I want to do this right. Don’t want anyone saying I didn’t train my dog right.”

Herc hid a grin. “Then you send the request to Marshal Carrodus in an email.”

“I can’t just talk to her?”

“It’s different now that you’re a Ranger. She has to treat you more formally.”

“Oh.” Chuck watched the puppy eat a moment more before he turned and hugged Herc, hard. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, son.”

“So who’s gonna dogsit when we’re in a jaeger?”

“Meitetsu said he would.”

“Your old crew chief is now our crew chief?”

“Most of the crew transferred over, yes. A few left, so there are some new faces. We’ll meet them officially tomorrow.”

Pleased at that news, Chuck fished the collar, dog-sized ID, and leash out of the crate. “He gets his own PPDC ID?”

“Marshal Carrodus thought you’d like that. It won’t open any doors.”

“That’s so cool! Um, how tight should the collar be?”

“You should be able to get two fingers under the collar,” Herc told his son. “Now that you’ve got it on him, we should take him outside for a walk, or we can set up the piddle pad in the bathroom. Should fit between the shower and the toilet.”

“Not sure if he’ll make the walk. Pretty far from here to the outside.”

They spent the next half hour training Max to go on the piddle pad, and showing Chuck what to do with the pad once it was used. Finally, they took the puppy on its first walk through the Shatterdome. 

Watching his son puff with pride over having a dog, it was as if the morning’s incident with the drive suit tech was long forgotten. Herc knew it wasn’t; there’d be an investigation and Chuck would have to give a statement of his version of events. For now, though, Chuck was just a boy with a brand-new puppy and nothing else mattered.


	9. Chapter 9

The following morning, Herc looked over Chuck’s email request to the marshal, pointed out a few wording corrections, which Chuck made, and then watched as Chuck hit send. It felt like such a momentous occasion, though Herc knew it was minor compared to other formal requests that a jaeger pilot would make.

While Chuck took Max out for his morning walk, Herc dealt with his own correspondence, including requesting that the plastic hiding the logo on Striker Eureka be removed, a brief email exchange with Stacker Pentecost commiserating over raising jaeger-obsessed teenagers, and some general PPDC business to which, as a Senior Ranger, Herc was expected to respond. Finally, he’d reduced his inbox down to a manageable level, in time to find that Chuck had returned.

Aware that they had conn-pod testing that day, Herc took down his sword from the pegs he’d installed near the head of his bed, located his scabbard from underneath his mattress, and started packing his duffel.

“You gonna teach me how to use a sword?” Chuck asked hopefully, stepping into the bedroom.

“No,” Herc said firmly, and glanced over to see Chuck’s face crumble. “Not until you have to know it. Though, given we’re Drifting, you’re probably going to know the gist by then.”

“But why won’t you show me?”

“Because the way I’d show you, you need to be able to heal from the bruises. I don’t know how to teach you any other way. Besides, you killed me.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” Herc had spent the last two weeks pondering how to deal with that incident, and had come to the conclusion that – while it wasn’t, technically, murder, it still wasn’t a good thing.

“But you didn’t die,” Chuck said logically.

“Actually, I did. Just because I didn’t do so permanently doesn’t mean you didn’t kill me.”

“Oh,” Chuck’s voice was quieter this time. “I didn’t think you’d tell me everything. Not after you lied.” He lifted his chin challengingly.

Herc sighed. “We’ve been over this, Chuck. I wanted to protect you.”

“What about teaching me to use a knife?”

Something in the way Chuck said it made Herc pause before answering. “You already know, you brat. You got Richie to teach you.”

“Yeah, but I want to learn from you,” Chuck said, unrepentant. “He only showed me two moves and how to handle it so I wouldn’t get cut. He said I had to ask you. So. I’m asking.”

Had he spent that much time in a jaeger or on other PPDC business that he hadn’t noticed how much Richie had taken care of Chuck? Herc wondered abruptly. With a mental shake, Herc refocused his attention. “In that case, we’ll have to get some rubber ones so we both don’t get hurt accidentally.”

“But you’ll be fine,” Chuck said.

“Yes, but you know that anytime jaeger pilots are in the kwoon, people come to watch.”

“You can shut the doors.”

“Not without the marshal’s permission.”

“So why won’t you get it?”

“Because I’d rather save it for something important.”

“And training me isn’t?” Chuck looked hurt.

“I didn’t say that. Don’t twist my words like that,” Herc snapped. “I’m more concerned about not accidentally outing that I can heal from damn near anything. You’re a smart kid, Chuck. Start by learning to think one step ahead. You do that and you’re going to be ahead of any physical move you or your opponent can make. That’s what a good Ranger does.”

Chuck stared at him, defiance in his stance until Herc’s words registered. “Not even a scratch?”

“Scratches I can hide. Blood – not so much.”

“So you have to pretend like you were really seriously hurt or you had fake blood,” Chuck deduced. A thought crossed his mind and he clasped his hand over his mouth. In a shocked voice, he said, “So if I’d killed you and you didn’t revive and I called a medic and then you revived, you’d have to lie again. _We’d_ have to lie.”

“Now you get it,” Herc said roughly.

“Conn-pod testing for…Striker Eureka…commencing in fifteen minutes,” the Shatterdome’s AI announced.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” Chuck said, deeply contrite. “I just…wanted to know more.”

“I know, son, but I’d already showed you I could heal. Did you really need to know I could die, too?”

“It didn’t seem real until then,” Chuck defended himself. A little crossly, he added, “I’m not going to do it again.”

Herc looked at his son and decided the issue had been resolved. “Good,” he said. Herc left it at that and picked up the duffel bag that contained his sword and a change of clothes. Conn-pod testing meant they were going to get some exercise; today's agenda included manipulating Striker's arms.

Chuck took his cue and picked up his own duffel bag full of spare clothing. In silence, the father-and-son team headed for their jaeger as Max trotted dutifully beside Chuck.


	10. Chapter 10

The PPDC’s PR department, aware that the UN definition of child soldiers was anyone under the age of 18 who participated in an armed conflict either directly or indirectly as members of an armed force or group, decided that, in preparation for Striker’s first mission, the Hansens would have their first interview as father and son jaeger pilots. By now, Herc was used to the scrutiny that came with being a jaeger pilot, but this was Chuck’s first; naturally, Chuck was trying to hide his nervousness.

All of the jaeger pilots went through media training as part of the final weeks of the Academy. Still, it was one thing to get trained, and completely another to sit with the Sydney Shatterdome’s public relations specialist, getting briefed on what to expect and what not to say. The interviewer was carefully chosen, and the whole thing was perfectly staged to present both the PPDC and the pilots in the best light possible.

Chuck fidgeted as makeup was applied so that he didn’t look pale on camera, but since he saw that Herc was getting done too, he didn’t complain. The look on his face, though, spoke volumes. 

“We’ll take all the makeup off after you’re done,” the makeup artist assured Chuck. 

Chuck scrunched his face. “Smells funny,” he said. “Don’t I look good already?”

“Relax your face,” the makeup artist said. “And yes, but this is so you don’t look like a corpse on TV.”

“Oh.” Satisfied with that explanation, Chuck sat back and let the makeup artist work.

Overhearing the conversation, Herc hid a smile.

Soon, they were brought to the ‘stage’ – the main conference room for the Shatterdome. The room had been rearranged so that the Hansens were seated in front of the PPDC and the Australian flags, with the interviewer seated across from them. The interviewer, a Hispanic woman named Liliana Taylor, had an international reputation for being a gracious interviewer, and had insisted that she pay for her own travel costs in exchange for her exclusive interview with the Hansens. 

“With me this afternoon are the pilots of the PPDC’s newest and fastest jaeger to date, Striker Eureka, Senior Ranger Herc Hansen and his son, Ranger Chuck Hansen. Congratulations on getting the only Mark-5 in service.”

“Thanks,” Herc said.

“Now, Senior Ranger Hansen, you piloted another jaeger with your brother, Lucky Seven. Were you slated to be in Striker Eureka with your brother?”

“Australia funded the construction of Striker Eureka and wanted at least one Australian pilot, preferably two. If a veteran pilot is available when a new jaeger is built, they have priority over someone who recently graduated from the Academy,” Herc explained, following the party line as he’d been instructed to do. “It was not anticipated nor planned that Lucky Seven would be damaged in its last fight. Scott is no longer with the PPDC, which meant that I was going to be without a pilot.”

“Ranger Hansen,” Liliana turned to Chuck, “you are the youngest to graduate from the Jaeger Academy and now the youngest to pilot a jaeger. Do you feel that you were pushed into this career choice?”

Chuck laughed. “No, ma’am. I’ve been telling my dad for years that I wanted to be a pilot just like him. He kept asking me if I’d rather be an engineer or a mechanic or a chef – anything other than a man in uniform.” Chuck grinned widely, revealing his dimples. “I’m the one who applied; he just had to give his permission – both as my parent and as a Senior Ranger – for me to attend the Academy.”

“Senior Ranger Hansen, were you shocked that your son wanted to follow in your footsteps – first as a RAAF pilot, now as a jaeger pilot?”

Herc smiled. “No. When you have a child who wants something that badly, says it repeatedly, and then does everything he can to learn about what he’s getting into before he comes to you and asks permission, you see his determination.”

“What do you say to those who think you should have waited another two years?”

“Ma’am, if you could guarantee that we’ll be here another two years, I’d have waited,” Chuck said forcefully, his smile disappearing as his irritation showed. “I want to fight the kaiju with my dad. Anyone who thinks less of my dad or me for it can thank us later for making sure they’re alive to have that opinion.”

That hadn’t been in the script, and Liliana was startled. A slow smile crept on her lips. “I understand that your first official mission will be with another jaeger. Is that correct?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Herc said. “Standard protocol when we send out a new team or a team in a new jaeger is to provide backup in case something goes wrong.”

“It’s been noted that the kaiju have gone up in scale since you first piloted. Do you feel that there will be an end to this someday?”

“We believe so, yes,” Herc said. “The plan is we win and the kaiju lose.”

“Can you comment on how you expect to do so?”

“I’m afraid I can’t at this time, ma’am. Until that day, we will be making sure the kaiju do not succeed.”

“Thank you, Senior Ranger Hansen. Now I must ask some really tough questions, I’m afraid, and these are for you, Ranger Hansen, since your father’s already answered them. What’s your favorite jaeger other than Striker Eureka?”

“Gipsy Danger,” Chuck said without hesitation.

Herc groaned mentally. He knew his son was crushing hard on Raleigh Becket, who was the younger half of the Becket brothers. 

“That’s surprising. Not Lucky Seven?”

“Lucky Seven didn’t have an I-19 plasmacaster,” Chuck said as if that was obvious.

Liliana looked surprised again, but regrouped quickly. “I take it you’re excited at Striker Eureka’s capabilities, then.”

Chuck grinned. “Striker’s a brawler, but she’s solid.”

“Favorite gift you’ve ever received?”

“It’s a tie between the chocolate cake Dad arranged for me a few years ago,” Chuck said, “and my dog, Max, who’s on Striker as the mascot.” 

Herc knew that Chuck’s favorite gift for years had been that motorcycle Scott had given him. The fact he didn’t cite it now spoke volumes.

“And last one,” Liliana said. “What’s the one thing people would be surprised to know about you?”

“I love to watch sci-fi movies from the ‘70s and ‘80s,” Chuck said, trotting out his first rehearsed answer of the day. “One of the techs on Dad’s old crew got me hooked, and the assistant chief of LOCCENT kept calling me padawan so I had to watch _Star Wars_.” 

“You don’t think the effects are cheesy?” Liliana asked.

Chuck shook his head. “That’s what makes them fun, because you see how the tech’s evolved. Can’t go forward unless you know where you’re from.”

Liliana smiled and wrapped up the interview. Once the cameras had stopped rolling, she took a moment to speak to Herc and Chuck. “You’re going to get questioned again and again about your age,” she warned Chuck. “Some aren’t going to be as nice.”

“Appreciate the head’s up,” Herc inserted before Chuck could say anything. “Thank you, Ms. Taylor.” Gently but firmly, Herc led Chuck away to where the makeup artists waited.

Chuck didn’t say anything until they were back in their quarters. “Where the fuck do they get off on accusing you of forcing me to do this?” he demanded.

Herc sighed and explained the UN definition of ‘child soldier’ to him.

Chuck stared. “I’m not and I’ll prove it. We’ll kick ass on the kaiju so hard they’ll never question us again,” Chuck vowed. “Right, Dad?”

Herc smiled, but some part of him wasn’t sure this plan would be successful. “Right.”


	11. Chapter 11

Two months later, Chuck was thrilled to be in Hawaii for Striker Eureka’s first official run, which had been originally scheduled as a training run. LOCCENT control was managed by the Los Angeles Shatterdome, which covered the gap between Canada and Central America and had opened in 2017. Chuck had never been in Hawaii before, but they didn’t have much time for playing tourist. LOCCENT had been tracking a lizard-like kaiju for a few days. As if sensing populated land was near, the kaiju had sped up its efforts, and what had been a slow-moving, easy-to-track monster was suddenly laser-pointed at Oahu.

As a result, Striker Eureka and Coyote Tango were ordered to kill the kaiju, which was now named Daslento after its initial speed. Coyote Tango was technically a Mark-1 jaeger, but it had been so extensively rebuilt that its new pilots, the Tunari brothers, joked that it was a Mark-1 Version Ultimate. 

Coyote Tango got tangled up in the shallows but managed to strike a few good blows. Striker Eureka took the kill, and Chuck’s “Yee haw!” quickly became legend, as did their time for a two-jaeger kill: three hours, thirty-six minutes, a new record.

Chuck insisted that they paint a kaiju head on Striker’s breastplate for every kill they made, which Herc, well aware of PPDC jaeger standards, promptly overruled. Chuck then asked if doing the same to the back of his leather pilot’s jacket was okay. Herc indulged him, figuring it didn’t hurt anyone. He drew another line at allowing Chuck to start tattooing said kill count; his argument that Chuck had to be at least eighteen was aided by the fact that they were in the US and therefore it wasn’t legal for Chuck to get one. When presented with the counterargument that he could get one in Sydney, Herc countered with ‘only with written parental consent,’ which Herc wasn’t willing to give.

Herc’s cell phone rang as they were getting ready to head back to Sydney, the post-kill interviews concluded, the kaiju blood on Striker cleaned, and Herc and Chuck cleared by the LA Shatterdome’s medical personnel. Glancing at the screen, Herc didn’t recognize the number, but given it was an international one, Herc decided it best to answer it.

“Congratulations,” Richie said, surprising Herc.

“Richie!” Herc greeted in surprise. “Haven’t heard from you in a while.”

“Yeah, I’m not in Paris.”

“Everything okay?” Herc asked. “You and Nick?”

“I can’t stay in one place like he does,” Richie revealed. “No arguments, just a realization that we want different things right now. We’re still friends. But enough about me. Is Chuck around?”

“Hold on,” Herc said, and crossed their temporary quarters to where Chuck stood, tossing clothing into a duffel bag. Flipping the phone over to speaker, he said, “Go.”

Chuck gave him an odd look that quickly changed the moment Richie spoke. “Hey, slugger, you looked awesome on TV.”

“Richie! You saw?”

“Caught it on the news,” Richie confirmed. “Congrats.”

“Thanks,” Chuck said, beaming. “Are you going to come back?”

“Sorry, kid, but I’m working on a project for a friend. Not sure when I’ll be able to get back to see you.”

Chuck looked disappointed. “Something real important, yeah?”

“I’m a man on a mission…a mission from God,” Richie quoted, and Herc knew that meant whatever it was, Richie wasn’t willing to discuss it on an open line. “But I’ll try to swing by and see you, okay?”

“Yeah, whatever.” Chuck started to refocus on his packing.

“That wasn’t the only reason you called,” Herc said hastily.

“Rumor is that there’s a headhunter based on Oahu,” Richie said. “I’d get clear if I were you.”

“You’re not here trying to prevent him, are you?” Herc said suspiciously. 

Richie laughed. “I don’t start fights anymore, Herc. Just passing on what I heard.”

“Understood,” Herc said. “Thanks. We were actually headed out – no time to play tourist.”

“That’s a good thing; you aren’t missing much.”

“So says the American who’s been around the world,” Herc teased. He and Scott had both been to Oahu with Lucky Seven; the island wasn’t nearly the tourist paradise it had been before the kaiju.

Richie laughed. “Sometime, you and I are going to compare notes. I’ll be in touch.” Richie didn’t say goodbye before he hung up.

Chuck zipped his bag shut before turning to Herc. “He wouldn’t have just said that.”

Herc nodded and checked to see if they’d picked up everything. “If you’re ready, there’s a jumphawk waiting for us.” He wasn’t worried, but it was something to note for the future.

They boarded the jumphawk without incident, but as they lifted off, Herc felt the warning headache of another immortal approaching. He saw someone running to the chopper as if to hold them back.

“Do you have communications with the ground?” Herc asked over the intercom with the jumphawk pilots.

“Nobody paged us,” the lead pilot told Herc. “And whoever’s waving to us on the ground is nobody we know. You know Panama City had a jaeger fly sneak in and try to hold back the pilots for Puma Real?”

“Hadn’t heard that,” Herc replied.

“Just happened last week, sir. So now unless we get a page from the ground crew, we keep on going.”

“Good to know,” Herc said, relieved.

“Was it someone you knew?” the pilot wondered.

“No,” Herc replied. “And we didn’t leave anything behind.”

Chuck typed something on the tablet he was using to play a game. Mindful of the open comm, he didn’t say anything as he passed it to Herc.

Chuck had typed, “Was the guy on the ground immortal?”

Herc erased the line and typed, “Yes,” and passed the tablet back to Chuck, who read it and looked worried.

“Max’ll be fine,” Herc said aloud, aware that the jumphawk crew not busy with piloting the long-haul helicopter was avidly paying attention to them. “We were only gone three days. Probably won’t think too much that we missed him.”

Chuck understood they had an audience and interpreted Herc’s message correctly. “You sure?”

“I’m sure,” Herc assured him. “Tomorrow, he’ll probably be looking for some new chew toy instead of us.”

Chuck looked relieved and changed the subject to the Tunaris’ drive suits, which were highly painted. The switch in topic made Herc smile, but he kept it up for appearances’ sake.


	12. Chapter 12

The jumphawks had been designed to help carry jaegers long distances quickly and efficiently; without that extra weight to carry, they were extremely fuel-efficient long-haul aircraft. What would be twelve hours in a commercial flight was completed in half the time – but given that priority had been given to mission requirements, the seats were standard-issue military helicopter and therefore were not comfortable. Both Hansens were glad to get out, stretch, stop off at the marshal’s office to make a quick report and pick up Max, and head to their quarters. They were now officially off-duty and would not be expected to be in their jaeger for a minimum of twenty-four hours. Given that the next kaiju was not expected for another eight weeks, Herc felt confident they had nothing to worry about for some time.

Herc started unpacking, dumping the laundry in a pile. The public thought that being in a jaeger was a glorious thing, never having to worry about clothes, but the truth was that unless you were in a drive suit, there was a lot of waiting around in a duty uniform. It had been Chuck’s chore to do the laundry before he’d entered the Academy, though Herc did some; Herc had made it clear that he expected to trade off that chore now. He wasn’t surprised, though, to see Chuck automatically start sorting the laundry by color.

“If an immortal came after you, wouldn’t he go after me first?” Chuck asked.

“Depends,” Herc replied. “If I was there, probably not.”

“But you can’t protect me all the time, and I’m too tall to ride on the back of your motorcycle now.”

“If you’re thinking you can ride Scott’s motorcycle, think again. It was removed along with everything else he owned.” Herc had told Marshal Carrodus that he didn’t care what happened to it.

“But I want to ride. I can’t be stuck in here all the time. I’m not twelve.”

Herc blew out a breath, aware that among the things they’d lost was Chuck’s motorcycle – not that it mattered now; Chuck was too tall to fit on it comfortably. “We’ll borrow a Jeep tomorrow and go shopping for you, how’s that sound?”

“Okay,” Chuck said, but he didn’t sound completely happy.

Herc was tired from the long flight on top of the tension of the last few days. Though the fight against Daslento had taken less than four hours, they’d spent the entire morning in Striker, waiting for the kaiju to get close enough into shore that Striker could attack from a fully grounded position. That didn’t count the day prior, when they’d spent the entire day on edge, waiting to be called to suit up. The last thing he wanted to do was spent the rest of the evening arguing with his son, especially since Chuck was irritable when he was tired, so he let it go. 

“Why don’t we get this started and get something to eat?” Herc suggested.

Chuck nodded and Herc breathed a sigh of relief. The missed encounter felt like a warning, though. Herc decided he couldn’t pretend that the Shatterdome was a safe zone anymore. Just because it had been so far was no reason to believe that it would continue to be one. Though Marshal Carrodus was a Watcher and therefore aware of immortals, she hadn’t consecrated any part of the Shatterdome. Herc didn’t expect her to, either; it would be against the PPDC’s policy of no religious discrimination. 

More important in Herc’s mind was that if they were airlifted to or from a non-PPDC site like Oahu, then the chances of encountering another immortal were higher. The jumphawk pilot’s comment about an overenthusiastic jaeger fly made Herc recall a warning about the possibility of extremist members of the kaiju cults. All it would take, Herc thought grimly, would be an immortal ruthless enough to use either the cultist angle or the jaeger fly angle or both to get close – and Chuck would be in the Game or permanently dead. Scott had proven that sneaking someone in to his quarters was simple enough – and his bribe to the drive suit tech was troubling from a security perspective.

If he had to choose between fighting a kaiju or saving his son, could he? Or was he better off letting Chuck know the rest of the truth now, before they Drifted again and it was front and center in Herc’s mind? If it was Chuck’s choice, Herc knew he’d feel better about it; it was a large reason why he’d supported Chuck going into the Jaeger Academy. Chuck had handled the news of Herc’s immortality relatively well, but Herc knew his son, and knew that Chuck could be vindictive. Stabbing Herc had certainly felt that way, even if Chuck had defended his action as wanting further proof. Would that mean that Chuck would want Herc to trigger his immortality sooner? If that was the case, what kind of father would that make Herc? Or was he letting his exhaustion rule his thinking?

Herc was a pragmatic man, but accepting he couldn’t protect his son felt somehow like he was failing as a parent. With a mental sigh, he told himself to sleep on it; nothing good came out of decisions made when he was this tired.


	13. Chapter 13

Security protocols for the jaeger pilots meant that the Hansens couldn’t just drive down to the nearest dealership, pick out a motorcycle, pay for it, and then ride it home. Instead, Chuck was required to fill out a formal request with the marshal to have a vehicle. Once that was approved, Chuck had to pick out what he wanted from a PPDC-approved dealer online, fill out the required ownership paperwork via email, and make a special appointment, outside of normal business hours, for him to test ride it and then take it home. It did mean that a week went by before Chuck was able to pick up his motorcycle. Chuck, who hated dealing with people who weren’t PPDC, didn’t mind having to do everything in advance; to him, it just made sense. Herc missed being able to drool over the various makes and models, which to him was part of motorcycle shopping. 

Once on the dealer’s property, one of the salesmen noticed that Herc was waiting for Chuck to finish up with the owner of the dealership, who was handling the transaction. Ignoring the PPDC security guards who were watching, the salesman – jealous that the owner was taking his commission – brazenly tried to convince Herc to replace his 2009 Honda VFR1200 with a brand-new motorcycle – “something more suitable for an experienced jaeger pilot” – and succeeded at triggering Herc’s disgust. Chuck was getting the newer model of the same bike, though he’d stared long and hard at a BMW R1200GS, which was the model Richie rode.

Cutting off the salesman’s spiel, Chuck announced, “I’m done. Let’s go, Dad.”

Grateful for his son’s interruption, Herc didn’t bother to wish the salesman goodbye. He followed Chuck out to the parking lot, where they mounted their motorcycles, put on their helmets, and headed out to the freeway. A PPDC jeep full of security guards shadowed them, a necessary evil, but Herc and Chuck didn’t mind. Neither man planned on going too far, and both knew what had happened the last time Herc had ridden his motorcycle. The only hitch was that they weren’t allowed to roam; they had to stick to the preapproved route and could only be out an hour.

“I feel like a dog being allowed off leash,” Chuck griped as they headed back to the Shatterdome. “I’m talking with Marshal Carrodus about this.”

“Fuel’s getting more expensive,” Herc reminded his son.

Chuck sighed and slowed his motorcycle down for the approach to the gate. “Long as they don’t tell me I can’t do this anymore.”

“You and me both,” Herc agreed.

They were headed back from the motor pool when they heard, “Senior Ranger Hansen, please call zero-zero. Senior Ranger Hansen, please call zero-zero.” 

Walking quickly, Herc quickly reached for the nearest phone, which happened to be just inside the doorway from the motor pool. Zero-zero, he knew, was Reception – and he had no idea who would be visiting. Then he felt the presence of another immortal and swallowed hard.

“Sydney Shatterdome Reception, this is Laura, how may I help you?”

“Laura, it’s Senior Ranger Hansen. What’s going on?”

“A woman named Amanda Darieux is here to see you. She said to tell you that she brings presents from Paris from Nick.”

“I’ll be up shortly.”

“Problem, Dad?” Chuck asked worriedly as Herc hung up the phone. 

“Could be,” Herc said, “but she can wait a few minutes. I want to get out of my gear.” 

“She?” Chuck questioned. “Someone you know?”

“Never met her before, but Nick warned me that if I ever met someone named Amanda, I’d better hold on to my wallet.” Herc walked quickly towards their quarters.

Chuck didn’t ask if he could go with Herc when he headed to the lobby of the Shatterdome; he just followed. Herc knew that unless the immortal was incredibly stupid, they wouldn’t try anything in front of witnesses and in a videotaped lobby area. Still, he felt better knowing his sword was in its scabbard and secured to his back.

Amanda turned out to be a stunningly beautiful woman with raven-black hair. She wore a bright red mini-dress that clung to her body like a second skin and emphasized her hourglass figure. Thigh-high boots and a necklace with a crystal pendant completed her outfit. Propped against the front of the reception desk was a long, narrow aluminum case with reinforced corners that Herc recognized instantly as a sword box.

Laura, the receptionist, looked relieved to see Herc. At the sound of footsteps, Amanda turned. Herc saw she had a wide forehead, an oval-shaped face, a straight nose, and lips painted as red as her dress. She smiled, and the force of her personality was as tangible as her immortality to Herc. She radiated effortless charm, even without saying a word.

Herc breathed out carefully and felt glad Nick had forewarned him. (“She’s drop-dead gorgeous and she’s the reason I died the first time, so don’t let her get you involved with anything.”) Beside him, he felt more than saw Chuck freeze and swallow hard.

“Hello, Amanda,” he greeted.

Her hazel eyes twinkled as her mouth curved into a smile. “You’re as handsome as you look on TV, Senior Ranger Hansen,” she said, flirting, as she extended her hand to shake. “I’m so pleased to finally meet you. Nick failed to mention you were in Paris when you visited.”

Herc shook her hand and didn’t let her keep it. She pouted for a moment but recovered so quickly Herc thought he might have imagined it. “I’m sure it was intentional,” he said mildly, ignoring the look his son gave him. “You have a delivery for me?”

“You’re not going to introduce me to your son?” Amanda asked pointedly.

“No, because you already know who he is, and he’s sixteen,” Herc said firmly.

“I won’t break him,” Amanda protested.

“Three words: Nick warned me,” Herc said mildly.

She let out a very put-upon sigh. “Fine.” She pointed to the case. “This is yours. I deal with acquisitions, not deliveries, but I was in the area. This what you requested from Richie – he would’ve delivered it himself, but he’s in Central America.”

“What’s he doing in Central America?” Chuck wondered.

“I didn’t ask,” Amanda said cheerfully. “Sometimes it’s better not to know. And, for the benefit of your security, it is a box of swords, no explosives, no hidden cameras.”

“How’d you get it?” Chuck couldn’t contain his curiosity anymore.

Amanda started toward him, only to be stopped short by Herc’s hand on her chest. “Right. Protective father.”

“Very,” Herc growled as he dropped his hand and she stepped back. “Now if you’re done flirting and trying to get more than you came here for, we appreciate the personal delivery since it would’ve been held up in Customs and red tape.”

Amanda studied him a moment. Herc met her gaze and, for an instant, saw the centuries-old woman who’d survived so much. Then she smiled, and she was the flirtatious modern woman who’d played courier. “You’re welcome.”

“Do we owe you anything for it?” Chuck asked.

Amanda shook her head. “Just win this war,” she requested, and pressed a kiss to Herc’s cheek, her hand sliding to grip his left buttock briefly, before sashaying out the door.

Stunned, Herc stood there for a minute before shaking himself. 

“Are you all right, sir?” Laura asked.

“Yes, thank you, Laura,” Herc said as Chuck started to open the case. “Not here,” Herc stopped him. “I have no idea how that’s packed. Best to do it in our quarters.”

Chuck nodded once, then lifted the metal box so he could carry it lengthwise. Assured that he had it, Herc headed back to their quarters, Chuck in step beside him.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to N. for the quick beta.

“You didn’t like her flirting with you,” Chuck observed. “Why?”

“Because she didn’t mean much by it,” Herc said shortly. He used his ID card to unlock the door between the lobby and the hallway that led to the rest of the Shatterdome, then allowed Chuck to pass past him as he held open the door. Here, in the public area, the industrial look of the Shatterdome was toned down so it looked less stark. The Hansens walked past the main conference room to what looked like a dead-end hallway. Herc keyed in the pass code, and the door slid open to the central core that separated the lobby from the rest of the ‘dome. On either side of the hallway were administrative offices; neither man thought much of them as they continued on their journey. The next door was also pass-coded and required Herc to also swipe his ID card.

Here, the hallway split into three paths – right to the motor pool and flight deck, ahead to the jaeger bays, left to the residence area. The jaeger pilot quarters were the farthest from the door, closer to the jaeger bays. Used to the distance, the Hansens thought nothing of how it took them a brisk ten-minute walk to get to their quarters.

“So if Nick had sent this via UPS, you don’t think it would’ve gotten to us,” Chuck said as Herc opened the door to their quarters.

“No. Right now, I’m the only jaeger pilot with permission to transport a sword internationally, and I still don’t know how Richie wrangled that for me. I’m just glad he did.” Herc held open the door and Chuck stepped sideways into the room so that the long case would clear the doorway, then Herc stepped inside.

Chuck then set the case on the floor. Three latches held the case closed. Kneeling on the floor, Chuck attempted to open it, but found the case to be locked. “She didn’t give us a key.”

Herc fished in the left pocket of his pants and pulled out a luggage key. “She did when she kissed and groped me.” 

Chuck’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t like her much before she groped you.”

“She has a reputation for being a lifelong thief. Nick called her a raven – always doing stuff she thinks is fun, but could get her and anyone around her in trouble.”

“Oh.” Chuck took the key Herc handed him and unlocked the case. They saw immediately it contained the hard rubber practice swords Herc had requested, as well as two knives of different lengths and a sword – a double-edged broadsword with a basket hilt. Trapped between the sword and its scabbard was a note.

_Richie told me you wanted the practice swords. I took the liberty of adding a few extra items. The sword is from the 17th century and was made by an Italian sword maker Amanda swears she didn’t steal from; the knives are new. Hope Amanda left you your wallet. Tell me thanks later, in person. – Nick._

“Is this mine?” Chuck asked in reverence. His hands hovered over the sword as if he wanted very much to touch it, but the years of knowing Herc’s sword was off limits made him hesitate.

Herc exhaled heavily. “After you learn, yes.” He closed his eyes briefly, hating that he felt forced. Nick clearly thought that if Herc wanted practice swords, he needed the real thing and some backup weapons as well. “But if you want to learn from someone else, I understand.”

Chuck eyed him warily. “Why the hell would I do that?”

“Because I’m not the strongest immortal or the best in the Game,” Herc pointed out.

Chuck shrugged. “Not likely they’d clear PPDC security,” he surmised. “Besides, you’ve been pussyfooting around this long enough. Figure you owe me for being patient.”

Not liking the look on his son’s face, Herc said sternly, “Don’t think this is a chance for you to be like me before it happens naturally.”

Chuck rolled his eyes. “I’m not that stupid, old man. You’ve said no and you aren’t budging, so I know that’s not even on the table. Way I figure it, I have to be at least the same age Richie was when he died or else nobody will take me seriously.”

“Good.” Herc hesitated, and then decided against telling Chuck he wasn’t his biological son. _It doesn’t matter,_ Herc thought. _I’m his father in all the ways that count._ As soon as he thought that, he reconsidered. “There’s something else you should know. There’s a strong possibility that you and I aren’t biologically related.”

Chuck lifted his head. “If it’s that bullshit –“

“Language, Chuck.”

“– I’ll call it bullshit if I like, old man –”

“Oi, don’t call me that.”

“Because if it’s something Uncle Scott said, I won’t believe it. I know he always tried to claim me as his. I heard Mom telling him off about it – that I was his nephew, not his boy.”

“Actually, it was Richie.”

Chuck stared at Herc.

“I don’t believe him,” Herc added quickly. “You’re my son. You’re going to be immortal, and if that’s not inherited than I don’t know what it could be.”

Chuck bit his lip and swallowed hard. “He’s wrong,” Chuck said furiously. “He’s wrong and he can’t know everything about being immortal. Somebody older’s gotta know more than him.”

“Would you like me to call him and ask? Because he told me he asked the oldest immortal he knows –”

“I don’t believe it.” Chuck looked at Herc, fury and conviction written on his face. “I _won’t_ believe it,” he added, his voice coldly angry. “You’re my dad, and we’re Hansens. We stick together. That’s what you promised me when you picked me up at school in your helicopter.” 

Herc let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “You’re not mad at me?”

“If you don’t quit stalling on teaching me how to use a sword, I will be.”

“Let me just make sure we’re not supposed to be anywhere.” Herc hid a relieved smile as he took a moment to check their schedule. Without a kaiju expected to appear, they had the usual round of promotional appearances to raise funds for the PPDC and interviews. The official launch ceremony for Striker Eureka was still a few weeks away – rescheduled to November when one of the dignitaries couldn’t make the original September date. They were required to maintain their fitness levels, but how they got there was their choice. “How about now?”

Chuck grinned and picked up the two practice swords. “Here or in the kwoon?”

“Here for now,” Herc decided. “No audience, and if we shove that couch and coffee table as far back against the walls as they’ll go, we should have enough room to at least walk you through the movement.”

Chuck didn’t quite bounce, but he was grinning widely as he picked up the sword case and moved it out of the way, then helped Herc move the furniture.


	15. Chapter 15

_December 2019_

“I’m not sick,” Chuck said, his voice hoarse.

Herc pushed his protesting son back into bed. “You are not in any shape to be in a jaeger, son.”

“But the kaiju –”

“– Are coming, yes, but you are not cleared to be anywhere but in bed,” Herc said firmly. “Now we can do this here where you can have Max, or I haul your butt down to Medical where you’ll have an IV and a catheter and no dog.”

Chuck winced. “But Dad –”

“As you keep reminding me,” Herc said ruthlessly, “you are not seven years old, you’re sixteen and expect to be treated that way.” Gentler, he added as he brought over a large bottle of juice and handed it to Chuck, “You have bronchitis and a strep throat. You can barely breathe, and I know you’ve calculated the amount of air intake required to copilot a jaeger.”

Chuck glared at him, but took the juice and started drinking it, wincing at the citric acid. Herc knew that part of Chuck’s disgust with his physical situation was that he’d been feeling just slightly under the weather when they’d arrived in Hong Kong at the beginning of the week, but now was more ill than either of them had expected. Adding insult to this was that Gipsy Danger was assigned to Hong Kong as well and had arrived that morning, and it meant that Chuck was not going to meet his crush.

“Who’s going to pilot with you?” Chuck demanded.

“I don’t know,” Herc said quietly. “But you let me worry about that, okay? You just rest and drink fluids. There’s some instant chicken soup by the microwave; eat that and it should help.”

Chuck made a face of disgust; he hated instant soup. He started to speak but Herc put a hand over his mouth.

“No talking, either. I’m going to go check with LOCCENT and see if they’ve pinpointed when this kaiju’s going to emerge and where.”

Max barked once as Herc moved to leave, and Herc rubbed his head before heading out.

Herc hated leaving his son like that, but while a jaeger could be piloted in less-than-ideal physical conditions (as Herc well knew), lungpower was crucial. Chuck had floated the idea of supplementary oxygen, but the Shatterdome’s doctor had staunchly overruled him, saying that it wouldn’t counterbalance his body’s general exhaustion. So Herc went to find out what his old friend, Marshal Stacker Pentecost, now the overall commander for the jaeger program, had planned.


	16. Chapter 16

“You’re not serious,” Herc said, staring at his friend. “What about Maddy Hamilton?” He’d liked the Scottish woman who’d been the closest candidate to be his copilot before the PPDC decided Chuck would be better suited.

“Ms. Hamilton is now part of Panama City LOCCENT,” Stacker said.

Not for the first time, Herc wondered if his friend thought that he could be fooled by the stiff upper lip the Brit presented. Herc remembered Stacker laughing, drinking, and telling tales that would completely undermine the very formal persona he presented. “Stacks, you’re asking me to let that murdering asshole back in my head, in my brand-new jaeger. He doesn’t deserve a second chance, let alone to be in the same room as me.” He knew Stacker, as the commanding officer of all the jaeger pilots, had seen his report; he’d been the one to call Herc to verify its contents.

“His therapist believes that this would be good for his progress,” Stacker said evenly.

“Fuck that shit,” Herc growled. “Scott should’ve been locked up and the key thrown away. Why the fuck does he get another go? And don’t give me that bullshit that I can’t question your orders. You could sub one of the grads from Chuck’s class to be my copilot; I know there’s at least one here. There’s no fucking reason why Scott has to be my copilot.”

“The brass has listened to us finally and has decided that unless it’s the end of the world, no pilot will Drift with someone he or she hasn’t Drifted with before. They aren’t treating us as interchangeable.”

“Fine then. I’ll do it because my son is sick but there’s no fucking way I’m letting my asshole brother anywhere near Striker’s conn-pod.” 

Now Stacker sighed. “You won’t be in Striker; Lucky Seven’s available. Think of this way,” he suggested. “Lucky Seven’s been repaired by the crews here, since Marshal Carrodus thought it would be best if it wasn’t in sight in Sydney. The brass thinks it’s a waste of money to repair old jaegers, but they’re bitching about funding new ones. If you do this, maybe we can save another one.”

“That’s a shit-ass reason and you know it, Stacker.”

“All I got, Herc,” Stacker said and straightened his shoulders. Herc knew it meant the ‘between friends’ moment was over. “You drop in twenty minutes, and there better not be any blood or bruises on either of you that aren’t caused by fighting the kaiju.”

“Does that asshole know that?”

“He does,” Stacker assured him.

Herc made a disgruntled sound, which earned him a warning look, but he straightened his posture and saluted Stacker. “Permission to be dismissed, Marshal.”

Stacker nodded. “Dismissed, Senior Ranger Hansen.”

Growling mentally, Herc strode to the drive suit room. _If this had been Sydney,_ he started to think, but then stopped himself. Marshal Carrodus had long ago made it clear that she felt the mission priority was to kill kaiju; she would’ve followed orders just like Stacker was. Stacker was just a little more ruthless about it.

Still, Herc didn’t like it. 

It didn’t take him long to get to the drive suit room. Scott was nowhere in sight, and Herc thought it would be typical of him to be late.

Raleigh and Yancy Becket, Gipsy Danger’s pilots, were getting suited up, as were Lo Hin Shen and Xichi Po, Horizon Brave’s pilots. Raleigh was like an eager puppy, nearly bouncing in his boots, as Yancy guided him to the elevator that would take them to Gipsy. Shen and Po looked serious, and Herc spent a moment to wonder if they’d avoided the cancer that seemed to be taking out what few Mark-1 pilots remained.

Herc nodded his thanks to the drive suit tech and made his way to the elevator that would take him to Lucky Seven’s conn-pod. He felt off-balance and unarmed, and forced himself to focus on the mission. Lucky Seven didn’t have the response rate in its mechanics as Striker, so he’d have to compensate, work harder, and its weapons array was set up differently. He had to remember that the cannon trigger was a ‘firing a gun’ motion, not a ‘roll-the-shoulders back’ motion, and that Lucky Seven didn’t have sting-blades. Shaking off the sensation that he was going to be fighting with one hand tied behind his back, Herc stepped into the conn-pod.

He saw instantly that Scott was already there. “I’d say hello but I don’t think you want me to say anything that’s not tied to the kaiju we’re about to fight,” Scott greeted. 

“You got that right,” Herc growled as he stepped into the right side harness. He didn’t like the way Scott looked, pale and too calm. 

“And before you ask, yes, I’m on drugs, but it’s just some anti-anxiety meds,” Scott said. “That’s why I was in here first – needed some time to calm down. Not gonna interfere with doing this, I swear. Marshal Pentecost signed off on it.”

Herc nodded, not trusting what he’d say. Just being here again in Lucky Seven with Scott was making him mad. Aware that anger would lead him down a path he didn’t want to take, Herc deliberately thought of how he’d like to kill the kaiju, and it was that thought – and Scott’s shocked, “Damn it, Herc, I didn’t know you were that bloodthirsty!” that he took into the Drift.

The kaiju was not like anything they’d faced before. Horizon Brave took the first blows on it, and was quickly overpowered. Lucky and Gipsy quickly stepped into the fight, but the kaiju hit Lucky’s left side, sending shock waves through Scott, who couldn’t recover fast enough. Gipsy took the kaiju down a few minutes later with a triumphant, “Ha! You lose!” from Raleigh.

Herc would’ve said something in response, but the pain emanating from his brother was nearly overwhelming. With an effort, Herc called for extraction. Lucky Seven’s AI was bleating warnings about left side hull integrity, and Herc wondered who the fuck had done the repairs, because that was the same side Lucky had been previously hit on the last time they’d tangled with a kaiju.

“Hey, Lucky Seven, you guys okay over there?” Yancy Becket asked over the comms as they waited for the jumphawks to arrive.

“We’re alive, but Scott’s broken some bones,” Herc told him. He ignored the moan from the other side of the conn-pod.

“Jumphawks are on their way,” the LOCCENT tech assured them. “Be there shortly; they’re pulling out Horizon Brave’s pilots at the moment.”

“So how come you’re not in your brand new ride?” Raleigh wondered as they waited. The Beckets could have returned to the ‘dome since they’d killed the kaiju, but Herc suspected that they felt honor-bound to stick around until the jumphawks arrived. “We were looking forward to seeing Striker in action.”

“Chuck’s sick,” Herc said easily. 

“That sucks,” Yancy commiserated. “Looks like your ride’s here, guys. See you back at the ‘dome.”

“Thanks,” Herc said gratefully, and popped open the access hatch. He assisted the medic who took a pain-dazed Scott out of his harness and up into the jumphawk, then climbed up the ladder that was dropped from the chopper. He looked at his brother, lying on the gurney getting triaged, and thought, _Never again._


	17. Chapter 17

“Dad?” Chuck croaked when Herc stepped into their temporary quarters, Max barking at his arrival. Herc spent a moment petting the bulldog before turning to his son.

“Yes, Lucky Seven was damaged, but I’m okay,” Herc said, forestalling the question he could read on his son’s face. A glance at the room’s TV showed a news anchor analyzing the day’s events, and Herc knew that the fight would’ve been aired live. “I didn’t get hurt at all. Scott broke his collarbone, fractured his left arm, and some ribs when the kaiju slammed Lucky’s left side. Sympathetic injuries,” Herc said, referring to the problem some pilots experienced when their jaeger was damaged since the Drift made it feel like the pilot was the one getting hurt instead of the jaeger. “He’s being treated and he’ll be sent back to rehab.” Herc didn’t mention that Scott had been on anti-anxiety medication or that feeling that level of forced calm through the Drift had slowed Herc’s reactions as well. “Marshal Pentecost assures me this situation won’t happen again.”

“What was Scott fucking doing –” Chuck started, only to wince as his strep throat made him unable to talk.

Herc opened the mini-fridge and took out a water bottle before handing it to his son, who made a face. Herc knew Chuck was getting tired of drinking liquids. “Drink. As for why – marshal’s orders, and they wanted to see if Lucky Seven was repaired well enough to face another kaiju. Looks like the answer’s no. As for Scott – they changed the protocol for substitute pilots. No more random partners unless it’s an emergency.”

Chuck drank half the bottle. “He didn’t deserve a second chance.”

Herc sighed. “Maybe not,” he told Chuck. “But he did seem sorry.”

“Sorry’s not going to bring back that girl,” Chuck spat. “Why couldn’t you have gone with Marshal Pentecost? You did those Mark II tests with him.” Chuck sounded more hoarse and disgusted with every word.

“If he gets into a jaeger again, he’ll die. He piloted Coyote Tango solo in Tokyo against Onibaba. The neural overload will kill him.”

“Whoa,” Chuck said, impressed. “That’s hard-core. How come you didn’t tell me?”

“Because I thought you knew,” Herc said. “I swear you’re better connected to what’s going on with all the other jaegers and their pilots than I am. Now stop talking and get some rest. I’ll order us some dinner and we can watch that anime Mako recommended we see.”

“You don’t need to report or do an interview?”

Herc glared at his son for talking, but answered the question. “Finished my report while Scott was getting patched up. Credit for the kill goes to Gipsy Danger, so I’m exercising my seniority by letting them talk. Not like PR doesn’t already know I’d rather not be on camera.”

Chuck shook his head at that as the novelty hadn’t quite worn off yet for him, but he willingly let Herc switch the subject to what he wanted for dinner.


	18. Chapter 18

They were back in Sydney in time for Christmas. Chuck, who was recovered, wanted to take a longer ride out west, farther away from the coast. He asked permission from Marshal Carrodus to ride without an escort – a request Herc was pleased and surprised to see granted; the only caveats were that Herc had to accompany him, and that their helmets’ comm units were tied to their cell phones. Chuck had trained Max to ride in a specially designed dog carrier that strapped to the passenger seat of Chuck’s motorcycle, so he was along for the ride.

With the memory of having been challenged the last time he rode with someone else on a long ride, Herc sent up a silent prayer that he’d manage one ride with his son with no troubles whatsoever. Of course, that meant that he just jinxed them for thinking of it. Shaking off that conviction, Herc took them out towards Lake Burragorang, towards the forests west of greater Sydney, where the road was less congested.

The day was gorgeous, and for a moment, Herc could pretend that the kaiju were just something out of a sci-fi movie and the fate of the world wasn’t in their hands every time they were on duty. He treasured the day for what it was, though. Chuck was sixteen; there was bound to be a day when he didn’t want to be with his dad anymore.

They pulled off to rest and admire the trees, which were a pleasant change from the ocean. Herc remembered how they used to spend Christmas on the beach; he doubted that was going to be their tradition for a while.

“Wanted to ask you something,” Chuck began after they’d admired the scenery a while, “without everybody around.”

Herc looked at him, startled. “Which is?”

“How are we going to meet other immortals if we’re confined to the Shatterdome? I mean – I saw how you got to meet Connor and Nick and it just feels like…there’s a whole world of people we don’t know. I don’t want to assume every one of them is out to kill us.”

Herc sighed. “All I can tell you, Chuck, is what Richie told me. You have to assume that even among friends, you’re playing the Game.”

“Well, then it’s a stupid Game,” Chuck declared. “For what? To be alone?”

“Why does it matter to you so much?”

Chuck looked away briefly. “Just…seems like a hell of way to live.”

“Is this about your sword training?” Herc asked.

“No…well, maybe. How am I supposed to know if you’re not teaching me something I should know?” 

“Chuck, you’re in my head at least once a week for sims,” Herc said, annoyed.

“Yes, but you learned how to redirect the memories so I don’t get everything.”

Herc sighed. “Just because Richie taught me in three weeks doesn’t mean I should do the same for you. It was for my safety.”

“And I shouldn’t be treated the same?” Chuck demanded.

“Richie could kill me repeatedly in training and he did,” Herc shot back. “The last thing I want to do is kill you. Damn it, Chuck, you think I’m ignoring you because we’re going slower and using the rubber practice swords instead of the steel ones?”

Chuck met his father’s gaze, his mouth compressing into a thin line. “No. I think you’re so afraid to hurt me we’re not doing anything.”

“Did you lose your brain cells when you had bronchitis and strep last week? Because there’s no way I was going to push you physically when you could barely get out of bed!”

Chuck hunched his shoulders. “Wasn’t thinking about that. Was thinking about the week before that and anticipating tomorrow.”

“Sounds like you’re overanalyzing this,” Herc retorted, then sighed _. Chuck has always been an overachiever; why did I think this was going to change?_ “I’d rather take my time and teach you some of the things I had to learn the hard way. Remember when you couldn’t wield a bō without hurting yourself?”

“Yeah, but…” Chuck shook his head. “Just feels like if I don’t learn quickly, I’ll be sorry and I don’t want to be.” He shook his head again, cutting off Herc’s attempt to speak. “Stupid, I know. Paranoia’s not healthy, blah blah blah. My stomach’s growling; we should get back.”

Herc nodded agreement, but he couldn’t help wondering what had triggered Chuck. “You had me thinking you were going to talk about sex,” Herc told his son as they headed back.

Chuck laughed. “Not interested in sex.”

“Why not?” Herc wondered. “I mean, aside from the crap example you saw from someone whose name we won’t mention.”

“Just feels stupid,” Chuck said. “You don’t seem to miss it.”

Herc laughed dryly. “I do, but I can live without it.”

“See?” Chuck said as if that was the answer to everything.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a teenager full of raging hormones?” Herc asked. 

“The only people I’d even consider would have to be my age, and there aren’t many of those around.”

“What about Mako?” Herc knew Stacker’s adopted daughter had struck up a friendship with Chuck, but he wasn’t sure how well it was going; the two had similar competitive streaks.

“Not interested in her that way,” Chuck said. “And I might’ve annoyed her by crowing that I got into the Academy before her.”

“Chuck!”

“What? Like Marshal Pentecost is going to let his daughter go, knowing what he knows? If she falls flat on her face and doesn’t make it, he’s going to look stupid.”

“And that wasn’t a concern for you in regards to me?” Herc asked dryly as he leaned into a turn.

“Figured since you were in Lucky Seven and already had a copilot, it wouldn’t look as bad,” Chuck said, the shrug clear in his voice. “Didn’t think it would work out like it did. Besides, I already knew I was going to make it through. Mako isn’t as sure. If she ever gets through the Academy, I’ll be surprised.”

Herc shook his head and decided to change the subject.


	19. Chapter 19

The next month passed quietly as they spent time in the kwoon, training. Chuck was naturally more aggressive than his father, and Herc found himself grateful for the fact they were using practice swords. As it was, Chuck twisted his ankle badly, so they had to once again hold off physical activity until he healed.

On February 29, 2020, a Category III kaiju named Knifehead emerged from the Breach off the coast of Alaska. Details of the incident were not made completely public, but what was reported officially was that Romeo Blue was unable to stop the kaiju. Gipsy Danger was dispatched to take it out, which it did, but at an incredible cost. Yancy Becket was dead. Raleigh Becket was in the hospital with brain damage, a severely broken arm, and burns to the right side of his body. He was on suicide watch, and no one was sure what would happen to him.

As a Senior Ranger, it was routine for Herc to watch the live feed of every kaiju attack in which he was not actively participating so that they could learn from every incident. He knew that Raleigh had become only the second pilot to pilot a jaeger solo. Though Herc protested the action, he could not prevent the PPDC from deciding to dishonorably discharge Raleigh Becket for failing to obey a direct order – a decision that was made at a level above Marshal Pentecost’s.

Chuck took the news of Raleigh’s discharge hard and the news that funding would be diverted from the Jaeger Program to build the Anti-Kaiju Wall even harder. The plans for a second Mark-5 jaeger were scrapped as a result – Vulcan Specter would forever be just a name for a jaeger that would never be.

As if that were incentive to be better, Chuck focused more intently on his training. Herc was increasingly drawn into PPDC politics in his position as a Senior Ranger, which meant he was forced to acknowledge he couldn’t continue sword training with his son – news that Chuck took with ill grace. By the time they were deployed again for a kaiju attack in October 2021, Chuck had grown into his full height of six feet, just one inch shy of his father’s height, and was as muscled as he could be.

More worrisome to Herc was that Chuck was absolutely convinced that mediocre pilots were bringing down the Jaeger Program. Herc didn’t say anything, though; he wasn’t cleared to tell his son what he knew, so he didn’t. They were once again in Hawaii, deployed with Coyote Tango, and it felt like déjà vu, just with a different kaiju – this one named Ceramander. This time, however, they had a little time after the kaiju kill to linger on Oahu.

“Don’t see why we have to do this shit,” Chuck griped. “I could be back with Striker, helping with the lubrication of her joints or painting my jacket with our new kill stamp.”

“Humor me,” Herc ordered, not in the mood to hear his son’s complaining or his plans.

In sullen silence, Chuck accompanied Herc to the leather repair shop. One of the straps that secured Herc’s scabbard to his body had come loose, and it needed re-sewing – a task Herc was unwilling to let wait. The shop sold leather goods as well, so the smell of rich leather greeted them as they made their way through the shop to the counter.

A Vietnamese man greeted them. “Good afternoon, Rangers. How may I help you?”

Herc pulled his scabbard out of the duffel bag he was using to carry it in, careful not to reveal the sword. “I need this repaired. Can it be done while we wait?”

The man, whose nametag identified him as Kim, looked over the scabbard and where the strap had broken. “For you, yes. Be about twenty minutes. Sarah!”

A burly woman with white hair stepped out of a back room in response and proceeded to have a rapid conversation with Kim before stepping up to the counter and taking the seat Kim vacated in favor of the back room. She smiled at the Hansens in a friendly manner. “Feel free to look around while you’re waiting,” she invited.

Chuck and Herc browsed the store, discovering that pants, vests, coats, belts, and accessories of all sorts filled the narrow space. Chuck viewed it all with thinly veiled contempt, and Herc knew it was because as far as his son was concerned, nothing compared to his official jacket.

“Here’s a nice leash for Max,” Herc suggested, pointing out the studded leather.

“I trained him not to need one,” Chuck said disparagingly.

Herc breathed carefully. The Ghost Drift between them hummed with Chuck’s belief this was a waste of his time. “Fine,” he bit off and chose not to say anything more. He therefore pretended to not notice, a few minutes later, Chuck’s interest in a heavyweight, armored, ventilated motorcycle jacket in a bright white – a perfect item for someone who rode in Australia’s summers.

The repair took forty-five minutes. Kim was apologetic as he handed over the now-repaired scabbard. “Sorry, but I replaced the strap with new leather so the seam wouldn’t rip right away,” he explained. “I also sewed the tip where it was starting to fray. I would recommend replacing the whole thing if you use this a lot.”

“Thank you,” Herc said gratefully, and then paid for the repair over Kim's objections. Herc didn't want people to think they were owed special compensation just because they were jaeger pilots.

Together, the Hansens exited the shop and headed for the Jeep they’d borrowed from the Joint Base Oahu. Just as Herc started up the Jeep, he felt immortal presence nearby. “Hold on,” he told Chuck.

“What for?”

“Trouble,” Herc said succinctly, and gunned the accelerator.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been edited from its original posting.

Whipping the Jeep out of the parking lot, Herc headed straight for the base. He felt the immortal following them and glanced up to see a red convertible hot on their tail. The Jeep was standard military issue, and for a moment, Herc rued that it wasn’t a civilian version with all the bells and whistles. Like most military vehicles, the speed had been set to a max speed limit, which meant the Jeep couldn’t go faster than 55 mph and didn’t have luxuries like in-dash navigation.

“Do you have your phone?” Herc asked his son.

“Didn’t think I’d need it, so I left it in Sydney,” Chuck said, sounding alarmed. “Why?”

“We’re being followed, and if I remember my directions correctly, there’s nineteen miles between here and the base. I don’t know this area so I have no idea if there’s an alternate route back.”

“He’s not going to shoot us,” Chuck said confidently.

“No, but he could ram us,” Herc countered, and tried to see an opening in the traffic to dart through. He wasn’t a racecar driver, but years of learning to operate a jaeger paid off in sharp reflexes. Chuck hung on grimly as Herc darted in and out of traffic.

Herc couldn’t tell where a church or cemetery would be, based on the road signs, but he did see the sign for a beach park and decided he was tired of running. Taking the turn, he saw the red convertible follow him into the lot.

“Dad? What are you doing?” Chuck asked as Herc parked the Jeep and grabbed his duffel. 

“Choosing my ground and standing on it,” Herc told him.

The red convertible pulled up next to the Jeep. Herc saw that the driver was a reed-thin male who looked like he stepped out of a casting call for a Disney villain, complete with the incongruous black business suit. 

“Stay here,” Herc told Chuck.

“But –”

“No,” Herc growled as he grabbed his sword and stepped out of the Jeep to meet the stranger.

“We don’t have to do this,” he told the stranger as they met in front of their cars.

“No, but it’s a fine evening to die,” the man said.

“Do you really want to kill one of the people trying to save the world?” Herc demanded, irked.

“Some people collect little dragon statues,” the man said, his hands vaguely shaping a serpent-like figure before he shrugged. “I collect heads. Maik Koenig,” he introduced himself. “There’s an area up this way.” He gestured with his right hand.

Herc followed grimly. By some chance or Maik’s foresight, the area he chose was hidden from casual view, and the growing evening light made for a close-quarters battle. Maik used an unremarkable looking sword, but his technique and skill reminded Herc of when he’d fought against Nick. Remembering that fight – and how Nick squeaked out the win by reaching for a second weapon – made Herc adjust his strategy. Maik didn’t seem to notice Herc reaching for his boot knife. Herc used the knife to slash a cut on Maik’s arm, distracting him. Maik looked shocked that Herc would use a second weapon, as if he’d expected Herc to fight only with his sword. Taking advantage of that inaction, Herc then took his head.

After the Quickening was over, Herc spared a moment to look around to see if he had any observers. He saw Chuck, looking equal parts horrified and fascinated as he stood at the edge of the area Maik had chosen for the fight. In that moment, Herc knew Chuck had ignored him and watched most, if not all, of the fight.

“Dad?” Chuck asked anxiously.

“I’m all right,” Herc called back with a heavy sigh. Carefully, he rummaged in Maik’s pocket for the car keys. Quickening-induced knowledge told him Maik had planned for this fight; there was a tarp in the trunk of the convertible and a limestone solution in a steel water bottle to make the body disappear.

Chuck stepped closer. There was real fear in his eyes and, seeing it, Herc mourned. It was one thing to see something in the Drift; quite another to see it played out live. “You….you took lightning into you.”

Herc nodded. “That was the Quickening.”

“Didn’t look like that in the Drift.”

Herc half-laughed at the annoyance in his son’s tone. “Feels and looks different when it’s you. We need to hurry and get rid of this body before anyone reports this,” he told Chuck.

Chuck straightened his shoulders. “What do you need?”

“Stay here; I’ll be right back. If anyone comes looking, come up with something.”

Herc walked briskly to the parking lot. Out of his duffel bag, he pulled out a pair of gloves. He then walked to the red convertible, popped the trunk, and got out the tarp. Though he could hear the distant sound of other people around, the vicinity was clear. It didn’t take long to roll Maik’s body and his sword into the tarp and dump the bundle in the trunk, then pour the solution over it. Not wanting to attract further attention, Herc decided to shut the trunk completely, dropping the car keys inside, while making sure to be careful to use his gloved hands to shut it. 

Chuck shadowed Herc on the trip back. Herc put his sword and his gloves into his duffel bag, then got into the Jeep and started the engine as Chuck got into the passenger seat. Herc waited until Chuck had fastened his seatbelt before he pulled the Jeep back onto the highway.

Chuck waited until a mile had passed before he spoke. “Somehow, I didn’t think it was going to be like that,” he said quietly. “Even though I’d seen it in the Drift.”

Herc risked a glance at his son. “Is that a bad thing or a good thing?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Chuck said. “Would…would he have followed us on base?”

“He’d have tried. He was the one Richie warned me about the last time we were here.”

Chuck said nothing after that. It wasn’t until they were back in their temporary quarters before Chuck spoke again. “He acted like he thought you were going to be just another interesting notch on his belt. It didn’t matter who you were.”

“No, it didn’t.”

“Did…did he kill a lot of people? If so, can we at least do an anonymous report?”

Herc let out a breath. “Might be opening a can of worms if we do,” he told Chuck.

“So we’re just going to pretend that we don’t know anything?”

“Yes,” Herc said firmly as he cleaned his sword and put it back in its scabbard, then turned his attention to his boot knife.

“Is that one of the reasons you haven’t been so into teaching me how to use a sword?”

“Yes.”

Chuck looked away for a moment. “I don’t want a part of this stupid Game,” he declared vehemently. “I don’t want to ever be immortal. Because if it means this shit, I never want any part of it. I quite like my life as it is.”

Somehow, Herc had expected this. He wasn’t sure how, but Chuck’s declaration didn’t surprise him. “And this is partly why I held off on telling you,” he noted quietly. “Because if you had a choice, you wouldn’t choose this.”

“How the hell can you see yourself as honorable when you kill people? At least Uncle Scott didn’t mean to – but you –”

“And if I didn’t,” Herc shot back, anger surging through him at being compared to his brother, “What would you have done, huh? Kept running?”

“I’d have called the police!”

“And what then? Gamble that they could hold an immortal forever? Play the stalker angle?”

“Anything except what you did!”

Herc met his son’s eyes. “Richie told me once that there’s no shame in running and fighting another day, but if you’re up against a headhunter…there will always be that other day. Honor doesn’t mean much if you’re living in fear. He’s been framed for arson and murder, just because he tried to run. Do you want that? My word against a headhunter willing to do whatever it took to fight me?”

Chuck didn’t look like he believed Herc. “At least you’d have tried going to the police!”

“All right. Let’s say we did. Let’s say we’d had a phone in the Jeep and could’ve called the police. ‘Hello, there’s a car following us that is weaving in and out of traffic and I think it’s a stalker.’ They’d ask me how we knew, and then what? ‘Oh, it’s just a gut feeling I had.’ You do realize how stupid that sounds?”

Chuck looked away.

Herc moved so that he was in Chuck’s line of sight. “I don’t like the Game, but I l don’t like being hunted, either. Even without knowing what I know now, which is that Maik thought that taking out a jaeger pilot would just make his vision of ruling the world even easier. If he’d won our fight, he’d have killed you and then taken your head the moment you came back to life.”

That caught Chuck’s attention. “Other immortals can tell I’ll be one?”

“The more heads you take, the more you’re able to tell, especially right after taking a Quickening.”

Chuck closed his eyes briefly. “So it’s really take them out or not at all and hope they don’t make you regret it later?”

“For what it’s worth, the four I’ve fought have all been headhunters. They weren’t interested in mercy. If it was someone else, someone less intent on taking me out, I’d consider trying to talk my way out of the fight.”

Chuck met Herc’s eyes. “I’m not…” He took a breath and then let it out. “I’m not holding this against you. I just…” He closed his eyes briefly. “Wish it didn’t come with this. I thought I could handle watching it, but it’s not like seeing a memory. It’s worse. I was scared and it looked like you were going to lose.” 

“I didn’t,” Herc felt compelled to point out.

Chuck didn’t look reassured. “But if you go up someone stronger, you’ll die. I wish Richie was here so you could keep training with him.”

“Not sure if he could teach me any more than he has,” Herc replied. 

“Still, there should be something.”

Herc sighed. He understood his son wanted some guarantee, some way of ensuring that Herc would always return, but that was something Herc couldn’t give. “Way things have been going, I’m more worried about the increase in kaiju activity than another immortal coming for my head.”

Chuck looked only slightly mollified.

“Let me finish getting cleaned up,” Herc said, certain there wasn’t anything more he could say to change the way Chuck felt. “Why don’t you see if Striker’s ready? If she is, then we can head back to Sydney and get off this island.”

“Will do,” Chuck acknowledged as Herc headed for the shower. Herc couldn’t shake the feeling, though, that Chuck wasn’t done analyzing this situation. He just hoped that they could live with whatever conclusion Chuck drew.


	21. Chapter 21

Something changed between them after that; Herc couldn’t put a finger on it, but he knew after that night, Chuck spent more time either working out or helping the jaeger techs with Striker. What conversations they had outside of the Drift concerned PPDC business, or taking care of Max, or the occasional bruises Chuck suffered from their fights with the kaiju or in the kwoon. Chuck didn’t ask any more questions about immortals or wanting to learn to fight with a sword, and the beautiful swept-hilt broadsword Nick had given Herc lay unused its case. If the memory popped up in the Drift, Herc felt a flicker of irritation from Chuck – a kind of ‘damn it, not that one memory again’ – that made Herc just focus more on less controversial memories so that they could get through to the mission at hand. 

The years passed, and by October 2024, Striker Eureka had the most kaiju kills of any jaeger – nine – and the kaiju were coming every four weeks. The PPDC had shut down every Shatterdome except Panama City, Vladivostok, Los Angeles, Hong Kong and Sydney, and jaegers were falling to the kaiju. What had been an impressive force – thirty jaegers at the height of the program – was now down to three: Striker Eureka, Cherno Alpha, and Crimson Typhoon. Striker was due to be decommissioned at the end of the year. 

Chuck’s mood at the news had just worsened his beliefs about mediocre pilots and his disgust at politics in general. “Who’s going to cover Central America when they close Panama City in a week?” he demanded as they suited up for the trip.

“Don’t know,” Herc replied shortly. “Guess it’ll be us.”

Chuck scowled unhappily. “Yeah, until they decommission us, like they’ve done to the other jaegers left standing.”

“Stacker’s got a plan,” Herc assured his son.

“Which you hate,” Chuck pointed out ruthlessly.

“You got any better ideas? Because it seems like all I hear is your bitching,” Herc snapped. “I may hate the plan, but it’s all we have.”

Chuck wisely chose not to reply.

Panama City, Panama was a full day’s travel by commercial air. In Striker, strapped to jumphawks, that time was cut in half – but it still meant that both Hansens had to be prepared for a long, exhausting run to where the kaiju was once their jaeger was dropped. The kaiju, now named Fiend, was a Category III, which was something of a relief; neither man relished the notion of going up against a Category IV kaiju after running in their jaeger.

Fiend was wily, ducking and diving underwater when Striker went for a second blow, but the Hansens weren’t fooled by the maneuver. They waited until the kaiju resurfaced and fired Striker’s WMB2x90 AKM chest launcher, blasting the kaiju dead. Careful not to assume it was dead, they verified life signs with LOCCENT and made sure that the kaiju had indeed been blown to bits.

Riding high on their success, the Hansens did their usual post-kill interview with Chuck taking the lead, bragging about Striker’s kill count, with only a brief word from Herc. While the reporter continued to fawn over Chuck, Herc conferred with the PPDC security about what would happen next. Some cities liked to have a jaeger available to clear any debris created in the fight; today’s battle had remained offshore, with no damage to the port, so Striker would be off duty as soon as the reporters stopped talking to Chuck. 

Tired from the fight, the Hansens walked their jaeger back to the Shatterdome and onto the hangar bay platform. Herc frowned as he felt the presence of another immortal in the ‘dome, but proceeded to continue with shutting down Striker.

“Something wrong?” Chuck asked. Their microphones were off; LOCCENT control had signed off as soon as the shutdown was initiated.

“Feels like someone with a long lifeline is here,” Herc said.

“You have your boot knife, yeah?”

“Small comfort,” Herc said, “but yes.”

Chuck nodded grimly as they removed their helmets and headed into the drive suit room. Whoever the immortal was, he or she wasn’t one of the drive suit techs, nor was he or she in the locker room – small mercies as far as Herc was concerned, since it meant that he could pull his sword and scabbard from his duffel bag. Chuck watched as his father strapped on his sword, then concealed it under his Lucky Seven vest. Herc didn’t think twice about the vest, but he caught his son’s contempt at the logo through their Ghost Drift, and ignored it as had become his habit. When they’d picked out what would be their signature duty uniform, Herc had tried to convince Chuck that he needed something coat-like in order to activate the magic that made the sword vanish, but Chuck had wanted their duty uniforms to look more distinct than what Herc had worn when he’d piloted Lucky Seven. Today, however, the contempt was accompanied by a mixed feeling of gratitude that Herc had the vest to wear.

The Panama City Shatterdome’s marshal had already vacated his post; the ‘dome was operating on a skeleton crew, so it was Marshal Stacker Pentecost who met them just outside the conn-pod elevator. 

“Good job, gentlemen,” he said briskly. “Anything to report?”

“Typical Category III kaiju, sir,” Herc said. “Tried to be sneaky; that was about it that was different.”

Stacker nodded once; he’d monitored the entire fight. “Then you are dismissed. Your quarters have been prepared, but I’ll warn you now that the mess hall isn’t serving any food since all of the cooks have left. However, the skeleton crew here assures me that a meal will be served in an hour in the mess hall.”

“Appreciate it, sir,” Herc said.

Since the ‘dome was operating on a skeleton crew, and since Chuck had become obsessed with making sure Striker operated in peak condition, Herc knew their next destination was the jaeger bay and Striker. As they approached, the sense of another immortal grew stronger, and Herc’s eyes narrowed.

Then he saw the immortal, who wore the uniform of a jaeger tech, approach them. His red hair was cropped short and his smile was wide as he greeted, “Welcome to the Panama City Shatterdome.”

“Richie you bastard,” Herc said, and stepped into the hug Richie offered, hugging him tightly before stepping back.

“What, no words for me, not even a hug?” Richie asked Chuck.

Chuck scowled. “You never answered my last email or my text.”

“Fried my cell phone in a fight and I’ve had problems with my email.”

“You could’ve come back to Sydney and work in our crew.”

Richie chuckled. “Well, you didn’t have any openings when I decided to come back last year, and I’ve been living here, so…” He gestured expansively. “But you’ll see me around, trust me.”

Chuck eyed him suspiciously a moment. “How? The rate things are going, there won’t be a PPDC.”

Richie rolled his shoulders. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

“What have you been doing?” Herc asked.

“Little bit of everything,” Richie said. “One of Nick’s friends runs a security firm, and I wound up helping break a kaiju parts smuggling ring by accident, because that’s how Bert’s cases roll. Amanda managed to get me roped into helping her, which –” Richie shook his head “– I totally should know better by now to say no, but I’ve never been able to make her listen.”

Chuck wandered off while Richie was talking and now was busy popping off an access panel on Striker’s left leg.

“We met her – Nick had her drop off the practice swords and a few other things.”

“Oh, good, I was hoping you got that. Like I said, I fried my cell phone and my email provider seems to think I don’t exist so I’m not getting any email.”

“You’ve tried contacting them?”

“They tell me that they have ‘kaiju-related issues,’” Richie said, rolling his eyes at what had become, for many, an excuse not to fix technical problems. He paused, seeing that he didn’t have Herc’s full attention. “You two Ghost Drifting?”

“Yeah,” Herc said. “Docs say that if we never Drift again, I’d still know what his emotions are.” Herc let out a breath. “Right now he’s annoyed with us.”

Noting that Chuck was now out of earshot, Richie looked at Herc. “Something happen?”

Herc sighed. “He decided that his time was better spent on doing everything he could to be the best jaeger pilot the world’s ever seen.” Herc hesitated. “He saw me fight and it wasn’t what he thought it would be.”

Richie looked at Herc sympathetically. “I know that feeling.”

“Yeah, well.” Herc gestured towards Striker. “You and I should talk more tonight, but shall we check out Striker first?”

Richie nodded agreement and went to join Chuck in his assessment of the hydraulics.


	22. Chapter 22

The evening meal turned out to be a traditional chicken stew called sancocho de gallina, made with local ingredients and served with rice, which was a pleasant change from the rations the Hansens had gotten used to eating. Herc, aware that many of the Asian rice paddies had suffered damage in the kaiju attacks, remarked on the rice and was told it was from Texas. The meal was communal, but it didn’t escape Herc’s notice that Chuck took the seat farthest from everyone. The mood between the skeleton crew was celebratory as they celebrated the Hansens’ win against Fiend. For a moment, Herc could almost believe this was any other celebratory dinner at a Shatterdome, but the way the tables had been stacked in the mess hall said otherwise. Some were even labeled with their disposition, and Herc knew that most of non-classified Shatterdome equipment was being auctioned off to the highest bidder.

After dinner, Chuck busied himself with fiddling with Striker’s mechanics again while Richie and Herc found a quiet corner of the ‘dome to talk.

“He doesn’t want to talk about immortals, the Game, or anything that’s not related to being a jaeger pilot,” Herc told Richie quietly. “It’s as if nothing else exists. He pushes everyone away who tries to get close.”

Richie sighed heavily. “Not sure what I can tell you, Herc.”

Herc shook his head. “Not looking for a solution, Richie. I’ve talked to enough PPDC shrinks to know he feels like he has to prove his worth. I just wish…”

“What?”

“That he’d stop for a minute and realize he doesn’t have to,” Herc admitted.

Richie smiled. “Kid like Chuck wants to,” he noted. “And that’s why it’s so hard. Face it, Herc, the kid’s you, just younger and a little more brash.”

“Maybe that’s the difference,” Herc mused. “I was already married when I was twenty-one and had a kid.” He shrugged ruefully. “What’s this about you sticking around?”

“I’m headed to Hong Kong after this. The call went out for volunteers to go help there, since a number of techs left rather than wait to be cut.”

“You sure you want to be a part of this?” Herc asked.

“End of the world, Herc. No matter what happens, I want to be able to live with myself. I can’t if I’m sitting around doing nothing while good men risk their lives. Not after I’ve helped patch a jaeger and broken up a kaiju parts ring.” 

Herc smiled wryly. “Hearing you say that makes me wish you’d come back with us in Sydney.”

“Much as I’d like to, I promised I’d help turn the lights off here,” Richie told him. He studied Herc a moment. “Want me to go talk to Chuck?”

“If you think it’ll help, sure, but don’t be surprised if he blows you off.”

Richie grinned. “It’s okay. I was a brat at 21, too.”

Herc looked askance at Richie. “I have a hard time believing that.”

Richie laughed. “Herc, when I was 17, I went from living on the streets and stealing to survive to living in a house where no one blinked about opening a $100 bottle of wine, all in the space of two weeks. By the time I was 21, I had all of that and more, and I still thought I was hot shit. It took me almost losing my head a third time to knock that attitude right out of me.”

“I hope it doesn’t take something that drastic,” Herc said with a heavy sigh.

Richie smiled reassuringly. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Herc didn’t see Richie the rest of the night, but Richie did make a point of seeing them off in the morning.

“What did Richie say to you last night?” Herc asked Chuck as they prepared to take Striker back to Sydney.

“That he was sorry he’d been out of touch,” Chuck said with a shrug. “We’ll see him in Hong Kong.” He flipped the switch that activated his side of the neural connection as Herc did the same.

The Hansens met in the Drift. Repeated Drifting made more current memories the fodder for their connection; this time, it was seeing Richie. 

_He said honor isn’t always about choosing to walk away,_ Chuck told Herc in the Drift as they started to walk Striker out of Panama City Shatterdome. _Sometimes it’s about choosing to fight._

_You don’t agree,_ Herc observed.

_I don’t know what I think yet,_ Chuck snapped. _All I know is that I’m glad you haven’t fought anyone in a while. Now can we focus on what we’re doing here and forget about everything else?_

Herc bit back a sigh and did what his son asked. The question remained, though: if they survived Marshal Pentecost’s plans, would Chuck still hold immortality against Herc? Or would he change his mind? Herc didn’t know, and he was almost afraid to find out the answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! :-) Before you ask, yes, this will be continued in another fic; I'm trying to keep these around the 20k word mark. :-) Feedback and constructive criticism welcome!


End file.
